The Wind Blows Sideways
by Ayiana2
Summary: A desperate decision threatens to destroy Booth and Brennan's relationship, but before they can deal with the fallout an unexpected event changes everything.
1. Chapter 1

The rush of endorphins had left Brennan limp and relaxed, but her pulse rate was only just beginning to slow when Booth propped himself up on one elbow beside her.

"Skip the tour."

"Booth-"

"No," he said, his voice caught somewhere between serious and not, "I mean it. You skip the tour, I'll cash in some personal time, and we'll run away together." He leaned in and kissed her, his free hand settling at the curve of her waist. "I'm thinking Mallorca."

She laughed, a rich, full-bodied laugh that made him grin in response. "You know I can't do that."

"Why not?"

Without bothering to answer she shoved him away, but her hand lingered, just for a moment, against the broad expanse of his shoulder. Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she got to her feet, turned, and shook her head.

"Look at this mess." She'd been packing when he arrived, but now the outfits she'd laid out on the bed were strewn across the room as if they'd been caught up in a windstorm. "I'm going to have to iron again."

Booth tucked a pair of pillows against the headboard and pushed himself up to lean against them.

"You've got to admit," he said with an exaggerated leer that made her roll her eyes, "it was worth it."

"You aren't the one who has to clean it up." She tried to sound stern, but it wasn't easy when she was feeling so thoroughly and pleasantly sated.

"Hey, I'd offer, but I never have mastered the art of lady's lingerie."

She raised an eyebrow at him, and he blew out a huff of exasperation that made her bite back a grin.

"Folding it, I mean."

She picked up the bra she'd been wearing earlier and examined the torn catch. With a shake of her head and a sigh she dropped it in the wastebasket by the nightstand.

"No need to fold this one."

She felt his eyes on her and looked up. His gaze flickered over her breasts, down to her still-flat stomach, and back up. "You'll be needing new ones soon, anyway."

She resisted the instinct to press a protective palm against her abdomen and reached for her robe instead.

"I'm going to take a shower," she said. "You-" she picked a blouse up from the floor and tossed it in his direction. "-can set up the ironing board."

He wrinkled his nose at her. "How about I help with that shower instead?"

"How about not?" Already halfway across the room, she tossed the words over her shoulder. "Hop to it, mister. I have a train to catch."

Brennan heard his half-hearted grumble and smiled to herself as she closed the bathroom door and leaned back against it. These past few weeks had been incredible, and for the first time in her life she was tempted to set aside professional obligations in favor of personal pleasure. But as she pushed herself off the door and crossed to turn on the water she shook her head. The tour had been planned for months, and Todd had already gone to great lengths rearranging her travel plans. She couldn't back out now.

Ninety minutes later Booth set her suitcase down in her compartment, having flashed his badge half a dozen times, glared at three porters, and kept his hand at her back during the entire trek through Union Station and onto the train. His behavior struck her as simultaneously exasperating and endearing, and by the time he finished testing the seats and inspecting the bathroom she didn't know if she wanted to kick him or kiss him.

"Booth."

He turned from the window. "What?"

"I'll be fine."

"I know you will." But he wouldn't meet her eyes, a sure sign that he wasn't being truthful.

"I'll call you," she said. "Or text. You'll always know where I am." She found it interesting that the thought of staying in contact with Booth didn't feel like an obligation, as it would have with her father or sometimes even Angela. She _wanted _to talk to him, to hear his voice, to laugh over the little stories he shared with her about his co-workers-to know where he was and what he was doing and whether or not he was happy.

"I know that, too. It's just …" He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the window and the platform beyond before returning to her. "We're only just starting to figure out how we fit, you know? And now you're going off God knows where-"

"I gave you a copy of my itinerary-"

"No. That isn't what I mean. Just-" He closed the distance between them. His hands settled on her shoulders, squeezed lightly, and she let herself lean, felt him take her weight as his arms came around her. "Just be careful, okay?"

It was an odd experience having somebody worry about her not just because they were friends, but because their lives were bound together in indelible ways. Booth had been her partner for years, her friend for almost as long, but he was so much more than that now, and her mind's insistence that she focus so much of her attention on him and their budding relationship had become problematic. The fact that her knowledge of the chemical processes behind these emotions no longer provided sufficient means of controlling them was more than a little disconcerting. She needed to find a balance before she lost herself in the maelstrom of emotions that had caught her up in its current. This tour would help her do that, giving her the time she needed to adjust and to begin to understand who she was as one half of a couple rather than solely as Temperance Brennan.

Reluctantly, she disengaged herself from his arms, but she didn't step away. "I'll be careful," she said. "I promise."

"And take your vitamins."

She made a face. The pills were quite large, and until recently had made her so nauseous that taking them had been pointless. But she'd finally reached the stage where she could manage them as long as she took them just before going to bed.

"I will." She gave him a light push. "Now go."

As if on cue an announcement on the PA system informed them that the train would be getting underway in five minutes. Booth took a step back, leaving her feeling oddly bereft.

She summoned a light-hearted smile. "I promise I'll eat right, get plenty of rest, and take my vitamins, as long as you promise to collect my mail, water my plants, and-" she hesitated, her smile slipping in spite of her best effort. "-don't get shot."

He grinned, his eyes warm with affection. "I'll wear Kevlar to bed," he said. But his smile seemed a little forced, and she took comfort in the thought that perhaps this parting wasn't any easier for him than it was for her.

She'd been convinced that this tour would be good for them, but now that her departure was imminent doubts were creeping in. She'd left him once before when she'd been confused, and that mistake had cost her dearly.

"I'd better go." Booth sighed and turned to leave. He was about to step through the open door when she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Wait."

He turned back, a question in his eyes.

"I'll-" she swallowed. "I'll miss you," she said. It was a true if inadequate description of her feelings.

"I'll miss you, too," he said, his voice low and rough with emotion.

She stepped into his arms and felt them close around her in a fierce hug. When his grip eased, she lifted her face to his, needing one more chance to feel the pressure and shape of his lips against her own. Afterwards, he touched his forehead to hers.

"I want you to think about something during this trip," he said quietly. "Not because of the baby, but because of you and me."

"I don't understand."

"I know." He seemed nervous, though she couldn't identify the cause. "I know you don't, Bones. Just … Hear me out."

It was a simple request, easily acceded to. "I can do that."

He studied her for a long moment in silence, but despite her increasing unease she forced herself to wait quietly. Finally he took in a long, slow breath. The words that tumbled out on its release made her eyes widen.

"I want you to think about marrying me."

Stunned-she wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but it wasn't a proposal-she opened her mouth to respond, then subsided when he shook his head.

"You promised to listen, remember?"

Closing her mouth again, she nodded. But her mind reeled.

"I know you don't believe in organized religion," he said, "and that you think marriage is antiquated and unnecessary. But it's important to me." He let go of her hand to brush the backs of his fingers over her cheek. "Just think about it, okay?" When she closed her eyes, savoring the contact, he bent and touched his lips to hers.

By the time she opened her eyes again, he was gone.

*x*x*x*x*

He had just come on duty and was still adjusting his uniform when the first passenger arrived for the early seating. Mid thirties, he guessed. Dark hair and blue eyes. Stacked. And judging by the classy outfit she wore, loaded too. Probably had one of the sleepers.

It took him two tries to get her attention.

"Ma'am?"

"What?" She blinked, then looked at him, wide-eyed, as if she wasn't sure what she was doing in the dining car instead of her own compartment. He added ditzy to his mental list of attributes, careful to keep his expression bland.

"Seat for one?"

"Oh. Yes. Please." She nodded with a faint, apologetic smile.

"Right this way." He led her through the dining car to a seat by the window where she could watch the Washington suburbs slide past while she ate. "Have you traveled with us before?" he asked, as he filled her water glass and tried to sneak a peek down the front of her scoop-necked blouse.

She shook her head. "I usually prefer air travel, but-" she hesitated for an instant, her lips pursing slightly. "-circumstances precluded that this time."

Precluded? What the fuck kind of a word was that? But he nodded with what he hoped was polite interest. "May I inquire as to your destination?"

He liked the way that came out. Very posh. With just a trace of accent. The hours of practice, not to mention the dough he'd blown on that snotty British speech coach, were paying off.

"Atlanta for now," she said, and took a sip of water before reaching for her napkin. She had long fingers, the nails trimmed and buffed into perfect little crescents. Fucking sexy. And when she pressed those luscious lips against the water glass his dick throbbed. For the first time in his life he wanted to _be_ an ice cube.

"Ah. Yes." He handed her the menu and managed to brush his hand up her arm as he let it go. Nice, soft skin. He itched to feel more of it. "History buff or sports fan?" He'd done a lot of reading on both subjects. He could hold his own on either. Reel her in.

"Neither," she said, without looking up from the menu. "Speaking engagement."

He was about to press her for details when he caught the boss's glare out of the corner of his eye. Shit. He excused himself to deal with the other passengers, but not before checking out her left hand. No ring. Good. He'd fucked married women before, but single chicks were easier. Fewer complications. And middle-aged single chicks were usually desperate, which made them his favorite targets.

While he seated the next passenger-a man with a beer gut and a creepy thing for trains-he wondered how long she would be on board. He'd make sure he was on duty early in the morning in case she came in for breakfast, but that might not be enough time to seal the deal. Maybe she planned on re-boarding after her gig in Atlanta. If that was the case he might have to see if he could switch routes with somebody, maybe even drain his bank account for a ticket of his own. She looked like she'd be worth it.

He kept an eye on her through dinner, and whenever he could he hung out near her table. By the time she finished and excused herself to the other people he'd seated at her table he knew that she was a writer, that her name was Temperance Brennan, and that she was on some kind of promotional tour. It wasn't much to go on, but it was a start. He watched her leave the dining car, already planning his strategy.

*x*x*x*x*

When Brennan returned to her compartment she found that it had already been converted for the night. She locked the door behind her, kicked off her shoes, and sat down on the edge of the bed with a sigh. She'd been a terrible dining companion. She knew that. But her thoughts had been elsewhere, and the mandatory social interaction had been unusually tiring. Which was why, having provided the developing fetus in her womb with a fresh supply of nutrients, she'd had no qualms about excusing herself.

Since she had no intention of leaving the compartment until morning she decided to prepare for bed, then read until she fell asleep. She'd brought along a suitable selection of reading material - several professional journals, an obstetrical text, a renowned parenting guide, and the latest Richard Castle novel. The last had recently debuted near the top of two best-seller lists, and she wanted to study the author's technique.

An hour later she realized that she'd read the same passage three times without comprehending its meaning, so she gave up and put the obstetrical text aside. It was obvious she wasn't going to get anything productive done, so instead she leaned her head back against the pillows and let her thoughts wander back to the day Michael had been born.

Booth had taken the news of her pregnancy surprisingly well. In fact once the initial shock had worn off he'd seemed almost ecstatic. She'd been relieved by that, having put off revealing the information until a time when she'd felt he would be most amenable to it. Apparently she'd chosen well. Booth had given her no indication that he was anything other than happy about being the father of her child.

When they'd arrived at his apartment he'd turned on a light, waved her inside ahead of him, then closed and locked the door before drawing her back into his arms. She'd tucked her face into his shoulder with a murmur of relief. Whatever else might be true, he didn't appear to be angry, and for that she was grateful. He hadn't kissed her, though. Instead he'd led her to the couch and pulled her down beside him, his fingers still wrapped around hers.

"So," he said, with a wry quirk of his lips and a shake of his head. "Guess I should've hit the drugstore after all."

Booth was a good man. It didn't surprise her that he would hold himself responsible for an unplanned pregnancy. But there was something she needed him to know before he got too caught up in his sense of duty, an offer she needed to make-even though she believed it would be refused.

"I can do this on my own," she said.

He angled his head to stare at her, but she couldn't read his expression, so she ploughed on.

"You don't have to be involved. You've already got Parker to raise, and you and I … " She trailed off, unsure what they were to each other anymore. After all, he'd made it very clear just weeks ago that he wasn't ready for a relationship yet. And now this. She bit her lip and rushed ahead before he could interrupt her. "McGill University in Montreal has offered me a teaching position. I would be quite successful there, I think. And Canada's a good place to raise a child."

The thought of leaving the Jeffersonian, of leaving _him_, made her chest ache, but she would do it if that was what he wanted. She wouldn't hold it against him, either. The fact that he'd fathered two out-of-wedlock babies would be difficult enough for him without having to face her every day.

"You would leave Washington," he said slowly. "Your work at the Jeffersonian, your friends, Max and Russ … me?"

His voice was even, but she thought it sounded a little choked at the end.

"Yes, but only if that's what you want."

"What _I_ want," he repeated, his voice tense. "Bones, two years ago you were going to use my sperm to have a baby. Do you remember what I said then?"

"Of course I do." That had been before his surgery. Before a lot of things. "You said that if you were going to be the father, you had to _be_ the father. But a lot has happened since then." _Hannah_ had happened since then. "It's entirely possible that your feelings have changed."

Instead of answering her right away Booth turned to face her on the couch, folding one leg onto the cushion between them and taking both her hands in his. She waited, her gaze on the bleached fabric of his pant leg. She didn't know what he was about to say, and it was difficult not to let anxiety goad her into speaking too soon.

"Look at me," he said gently. When she did she found that his gaze was steady on hers, and his grip on her hands was firm, though his thumbs traveled back and forth across her wrists in a manner that she found quite distracting. "You aren't going anywhere," he said. "You're going to stay right here with the people who love you." He gave her one of his lopsided grins, the ones that made him look boyish and charming. It was a look she found difficult to resist. "You're going to be an amazing mom," he said, his smile widening. "And I'm going to be the best dad I know how to be." He squeezed her hands in his, and Brennan was surprised to feel tears in her eyes. "And we're going to do it together."

A few tears did spill over then, despite her best efforts to hold them back. He brushed them away with his thumb and a faint smile.

"Stand up for a minute," he said, and when she did he straightened his leg along the back of the couch. "That's better." He reached for her hand and pulled her down again so that her back was against his chest. Then he looped his arms around her waist, tangling his fingers with hers. She let her head fall back against his shoulder, and for a few minutes they sat quietly together.

"So," he finally said, "due in December, right?"

She nodded. "Late, I think."

"Have you seen the doctor yet?"

This time she shook her head. "I have an appointment this week."

For a minute she thought he was going to ask to go with her. She didn't want him there, but she didn't want to hurt his feelings, either, so she was relieved when he moved on.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine, so far."

"No morning sickness?"

"Not yet."

It was a relief to know she wasn't going to have to raise the baby by herself. She could of course, if she had to. She had no doubts about that. But it would be much less stressful if she could share the responsibilities, especially since she'd be doing so with somebody who had already raised one child successfully.

"Booth?"

"Hmm?" His low hum tickled her ear.

"Were you afraid?" she asked. "When you found out about Parker, I mean. Were you afraid you wouldn't be a good parent?" She hadn't realized until she said it aloud that she really did fear failure. Raising a child seemed so much more complicated than analyzing a skeleton or giving a lecture.

His arms tightened around her for a moment, and she felt him nod. "Terrified."

"When did it stop?"

He chuckled. "It hasn't yet."

"How do you manage it?" She shifted, turning her head to look at him. "It all seems so overwhelming."

He tightened his hold on her. "You just take it one day at a time, Bones. That's all you can do." He sighed. "It's all anyone can do."

Only partially appeased, she turned around and let her head drop back to his shoulder. "I've been doing some reading," she said.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

The amusement in his voice confused her, but she let it pass.

"It's important to be informed, Booth. Especially about something like this."

She felt him press a kiss against the top of her head. "Of course it is," he said. "What do the experts say?"

"That's just it-" She didn't bother trying to hide her frustration. "They contradict each other so frequently that it's impossible to reach any useful conclusions." She frowned. "It's very unprofessional. They should build consensus among themselves if they expect to be taken seriously."

"Bones … raising kids-" He untangled one hand from hers to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear before settling his fingers against the side of her neck. "It isn't something you can learn from a book." He traced small circles on her skin with the pad of his thumb, and she tilted her head to give him better access while she thought about his comment.

"That doesn't make any sense. You can learn everything from books."

"Did you learn about forgiveness from a book?" he asked gently. "Or friendship? Or love?"

"No, but-"

"It's about heart, Bones. Heart, and instinct, and-" His hand stilled, and she wondered what he was thinking. ''-and a whole lot of luck."

She considered that. He was probably right. He usually was about these things.

"That explains why you're such a good father," she said, as understanding dawned.

"Why's that?" His voice was a study in wary amusement, as if he were curious what she was going to say but not entirely sure he really wanted to know.

"Because you're an excellent gambler."

There'd been a time when any mention of his gambling addiction would have irritated him, but now he only chuckled.

"I don't think it's that, Bones. If I'm a good father it's because I work hard at it. Every single day. And because I would do anything for my kid, anything at all, to make sure he knows that I love him."

"You do love him very much. I know that."

"Yeah," he said, and she could hear it in his voice. There was a kind of warmth in its tone that she only ever heard when he spoke of Parker. "Yeah, I do."

Hours later they'd been lying in his bed, their legs tangled together, his fingers tracing idle patterns along her spine. Her eyelids were heavy, her respiration slowing.

"Bones?" His voice was low, probably because he thought she might already be asleep.

"Hmm?"

"I don't want to be an absentee father."

She rolled over to face him. His hand came to rest along the curve of her hip. Hers settled on the hard wall of his chest.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean I want to be there for this kid. I want to help with diapers and colic and midnight feedings. I don't want to watch his childhood from a distance the way I have Parker's."

"I don't understand." It wasn't entirely true, but this was too important for her to risk making an incorrect assumption.

"I think we should move in together."

It made sense that if he chose to have a role in his child's life, he would expect it to be a significant one. "All right"

He blinked, apparently surprised by her ready acquiescence. "No argument?"

"None at all. It's a logical suggestion, and the only one that will enable you to fully engage in the parenting experience."

And then suddenly he was laughing and she didn't know why. But she didn't ask. It was enough just then that he was happy. He'd pulled her into an exuberant hug. Then he'd kissed her, and pretty soon she didn't care why he'd laughed. She only cared that he continue doing what he was doing with his hands.

They'd started looking for a place to live the following weekend, and it was then that Brennan truly began to comprehend how difficult it would be to blend their lifestyles. Booth wanted a place in the suburbs with three or four bedrooms and a fenced yard. She wanted to stay in the city, closer to her work and the Mall. They'd agreed to consider both options, but Booth hadn't liked any of the apartments she'd suggested, and the houses he'd found had been too old and run-down for her taste. Their realtor had suggested they consider a row house, but Booth had taken one look at the prices and shaken his head.

By the end of their third weekend of fruitless searching they'd been frustrated and exhausted, and after sharing a near-silent meal at one of their favorite restaurants they'd retired to their own apartments. It was the first time she'd slept alone since she'd told Booth about the baby.

By unspoken agreement they hadn't toured any homes since that night. And while there was still time-she'd only just begun her second trimester-Brennan would feel better once the difficulty was resolved.

Finding a place to live that satisfied both their requirements was only one of the challenges they'd faced in those first few weeks. Their fundamental differences hadn't magically disappeared, nor did she expect them to. Despite those differences, and in part because of them, she knew she loved him unconditionally. She couldn't envision anything that would change that.

But marriage?

She hadn't altered her opinion about it as an institution. It was an outdated concept, better suited to a time when women had needed the security of legal contracts and the trappings of religion to safeguard their future. But Brennan needed neither of those things. Religion held no meaning to her beyond an anthropological one, and there were ways to acquire most of the legal benefits of marriage without indulging in meaningless ceremony. Should she abandon her personal convictions if doing so made him happy? Or should she stand by them? And if she chose the latter, how would Booth react?

They were questions without clear solutions, and Brennan was still pondering them as she drifted into restless sleep, her dreams punctuated by the rhythmic clack of the train's wheels and the long, mournful sound of its whistle.

*x*x*x*x*

The boldly-lettered flyer caught Natalie's eye as she reached to pull the door open. Intrigued, she stepped out of the flow of traffic in order to read it more carefully. When she finished she brushed her fingertips over the text and smiled to herself before glancing at her watch. The event was just beginning. With luck, she'd be able to acquire a signed first edition.

After a quick stop at the registers to purchase a copy of Dr. Brennan's latest novel, Natalie made her way to the area set aside for the signing. Spacious and well-appointed, it had an ambiance cleverly designed to promote feelings of warmth and security while still being well-lit enough to satisfy a devoted fan's need to see clearly. It was an impressive example of psychological manipulation through the application of atmospheric controls. Customers who were comfortable and engaged were more likely to dip into their bank accounts.

Chris's favorite author was standing at the front of the event space near a simple dais. She was speaking to a short, dark-haired man who gave off an aura of tightly leashed energy as he scanned the crowd and nodded agreement with whatever Dr. Brennan was saying. When she finished, he nodded one last time and stepped to the dais.

"Good afternoon," he said. His voice was quite pleasant, well-modulated and entirely masculine. She didn't know why she hadn't expected that.

He had to say it twice before the crowd quieted. It was a big group, the biggest she'd seen at one of these events, which spoke to Dr. Brennan's success as an author, though Natalie had always been more interested in her accomplishments in the field of forensic anthropology. Science was much more useful to the human race than the arts.

"I'd like to thank you for coming today," the man at the dais said. "My name, though I doubt you care very much, is Todd Richardson." He waited for the laughter to fade, then went on. "Part of my job is to make sure these events are enjoyable for everyone. To that end I ask that you take a moment to turn off your cell phones and other electronic devices before we get started."

Several people withdrew their phones, fiddled with them for a moment, and then put them away again. Natalie waited impatiently, her own cell phone having been silenced and put away since she'd entered the store.

"Thank you," Todd said, when the crowd had settled. "And now I'd like to introduce Dr. Temperance Brennan, author of several best-selling crime novels, and one of the world's top forensic anthropologists."

There was a smattering of applause as Dr. Brennan took Todd's place at the dais. She waited for quiet before speaking.

Thank you, Todd," she said with a warm smile as she took his place at the dais. "I'm happy to be here." She turned her attention to the audience, and Natalie's gaze narrowed. Piercing intelligence shown from the blue eyes that met hers for the briefest instant, but there was something more there, too. Something she couldn't quite define.

"The one thing about crime that most crime writers don't do well-" Dr. Brennan was saying, "-is science. My training and experience give me a unique advantage in this regard, making my novels more realistic than most others published today."

A few people laughed. Most shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Natalie nodded her approval. She didn't believe in false modesty, especially when it came to women. It was hard enough to succeed without hiding behind convention.

Brennan tapped a stack of note cards into a neat pile.

"The topic of today's talk is _The Science in the Fiction - _how to successfully integrate accurate scientific data and emotionally compelling drama."

Natalie tuned out after that. She hadn't come for the lecture, but for the signing afterwards. While she waited she watched the crowd, a habit she'd acquired some years ago and which had often proven useful.

The audience was comprised of a fairly wide range of people. Most wore blue jeans and t-shirts, though some of the women were wearing sun dresses. A group of senior citizens sat together at the front, nodding from time to time in a way that put Natalie in mind of mystics, their expressions sober and intent as they cataloged Dr. Brennan's every word.

Natalie's gaze snagged on a middle-aged gentleman off to one side. He was dressed as a businessman, in a mid-range, dark colored suit and blue polyester tie, but she'd bet her next venture it wasn't his usual attire. He kept tugging at his collar and jacket-not the behavior of a man who wore the uniform every day-and his gaze roamed the crowd with the critical regularity of a professional. Interesting. While it didn't surprise Nat that Dr. Brennan would have handlers, she hadn't expected a personal bodyguard.

The brief lecture drew to a close, and after another round of applause Richardson began organizing the group for the book signing while Dr. Brennan seated herself at the table and picked up a pen. Natalie glanced at her watch again, then reached for her cell phone. Her assistant would have to postpone two video conferences and reschedule a lunch date-inconvenient, but unavoidable. She sent the text, then checked her email and responded to a dozen messages, two of which made her curse softly to herself before she stepped aside to fire off terse responses and follow-up phone calls to her associates. The snafu, while minor, was enough to place her at the end of the line when she returned to the signing.

Never one to stay angry for long, Natalie waited patiently, listening to the conversations that ebbed and flowed around her, alert for any tidbits of information that might prove useful in her work. It was a skill she'd perfected as a child, when constant vigilance had often prevented unpleasant encounters with the bullies who'd ruled the schoolyard the way Caesar had ruled Rome.

When her turn finally came she handed her purchase to Dr. Brennan with a respectful smile and a nod.

"To whom should I dedicate this?" Dr. Brennan asked, pen poised.

"It's for Chris. She couldn't be here today, but she's a big fan of your work." She watched Dr. Brennan write, the long, smooth strokes both elegant and economical, and accepted the return of her book with another smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Natalie had been the last in line, and as she stepped away Dr. Brennan got to her feet and pulled out her cell phone. Natalie saw her glance at its display with a look of genuine pleasure before touching the screen and lifting the phone to her ear. Curious, Natalie lingered, picking up a book from a nearby shelf and examining its jacket while she eavesdropped on Dr. Brennan's side of the conversation.

*x*x*x*x*

Brennan watched Todd straighten the remaining books on the table while she waited for the phone to be answered at the other end.

There was a click as the connection went through, then, "Those diapers had better be here soon, buster, or else I'm bringing this kid to you."

Brennan blinked, nonplussed. "Angela? It's Brennan."

"Oh! Hi! Sorry about that. I thought you were that damned diaper service. They're late with the delivery again and Michael's on his last diaper."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Angela laughed. "I don't think so, sweetie. Thank you, though." Faint smacking sounds traveled through the connection along with Angela's voice. "How are you?" Angela asked. "How did your first stop go?"

"I'm fine. I'm enjoying the train very much, even though it's significantly less efficient than air travel."

"You had your own compartment, right?"

"A sleeper, yes. It was quite comfortable. I'm impressed by how well they utilize limited space."

"How's the food? Is it as bad as it is on the plane?"

"The nutritional value isn't as high as I would prefer, but the prenatal vitamins I'm taking should more than compensate for any shortfall."

"So. Bland but edible. Figures. How are you feeling?"

A customer lingered nearby, browsing in the technology section. Brennan recognized her as the last of the fans from her signing. Not wishing to disturb her, Brennan moved a few steps further away.

"Quite well, actually."

"No morning sickness?"

Brennan shook her head, then remembered Angela couldn't see her. "Not since I started taking my vitamins at night instead of in the morning."

"And you're getting enough rest."

"I've only been gone a day!" Brennan laughed. "Angela, I swear you're as bad as Booth. Stop worrying. I'm fine. The fetus is fine-"

"Baby," Angela corrected gently. "The _baby_ is fine, Bren."

"No, that's incorrect. It isn't a baby until after it's born. I'm _going_ to have a baby, but right now I'm carrying a fetus."

Angela laughed at that, and Brennan didn't understand why. She was certain she was correct.

"Fine, then." Angela still sounded amused. "You win for now."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

There was a pause, then the sound of a loud, satisfied burp from Michael.

"Have you told Booth yet?" Angela asked.

Brennan let out a breath. "Not yet."

"Brennan …"

Todd was gesturing to her, indicating that he needed to talk. She nodded.

"I need to go, Ange. Give Michael a kiss from me, okay?"

"I'll do that. But you have to tell him. And Brennan-" Angela's voice held a stern note of warning. "Soon."

"I will, Ange. I promise. But right now I really have to go."

"Yeah, Yeah. I get it." The warning was replaced by resignation. "Take care of yourself, okay sweetie?"

"I will."

Shaking her head, Brennan ended the call and put her cell phone away. She didn't understand why everyone kept expressing concern for her health. Aside from some occasional vitamin-induced nausea she'd experienced few of the negative side-effects of pregnancy that she'd been warned to expect.

Todd gestured to her again, and as she crossed to see what he wanted she gave a mental shrug. Maybe she was just in that statistical minority of women who never experienced nausea gravidarum. She should probably count herself lucky.

She did one more signing in the late afternoon on the other side of the city, then enjoyed a pleasant dinner at a local restaurant with Todd before he brought her back to the hotel. She thanked him for his help, told him she'd see him in New Orleans, and assured him that she was perfectly able to take a cab to the train station in the morning.

Once in her room she set her purse on the dresser. She was taking off her earrings when she noticed the tiny vase on the table beside the bed. Inside were a trio of bright yellow daffodils and a spray of baby's breath. A small envelope lay at its base. Brennan picked it up, not needing to read the note inside to know who had sent it.

_Thinking of you_ was all it said. She kicked off her shoes and settled on the bed with her back against the pillows before reaching for the telephone. She was smiling, her eyes on the flowers, when he answered.

"Hey, Bones."

She found it interesting that the sound of his voice had such a strong physical effect on her, causing a slight jump in her heart rate and an increased galvanic skin response that made her shift against the pillows.

"The daffodils are beautiful," she said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." There was a smile in his voice, along with a note of affection.

Are you at home?" she asked.

"No." He sounded tired. "Still at work."

She pictured him there. He'd undoubtedly loosened his tie and was leaning back in the chair she'd bought him a couple of years ago. Despite its excellent lumbar support, she knew his back would be bothering him by the time he left for the day.

"It's getting late," she said. "Are you working on a case?" The thought that he might be was vaguely unsettling, though she wasn't sure why. It would be unreasonable to presume that he wouldn't work cases in her absence.

"No. Just catching up on some paperwork. Hacker's been on my back about finishing these reports."

Andrew hadn't been happy when he'd learned of Brennan's pregnancy. Booth had said it was because he was jealous, but Andrew had insisted he was just worried that one of the FBI's top consultants might not be available when he needed her. Despite Brennan's reassurances he'd been behaving oddly ever since he'd heard the news.

"Is he being unreasonable? I could talk to him."

"No!" Booth's vehemence surprised her. She only wanted to help. "No, Bones. It's okay. Everything's under control."

"You're sure …"

"I'm sure." She heard the shuffle of papers, the click of a ballpoint pen. "How's the tour going?"

"Fine, so far. There was an excellent turnout at both stops today."

"Is Richardson taking good care of you? Because if he isn't …"

Brennan rolled her eyes. "My publicist is very good at his job."

"I still wish I was there to keep an eye on you myself."

"I don't need a babysitter, Booth. Besides, you can't take four weeks off work right now."

"I know, I know, I just … I miss you, all right?"

"I miss you, too." There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before she changed the subject. "Did you speak to Randy today?"

Randy Jenkins was their real estate agent. They'd agreed that Booth would start the housing search again while she was on tour. It wasn't something that could wait, since moving would become increasingly difficult for her as her pregnancy progressed.

"Only by email. He said he'd heard a rumor about something new coming on the market soon, but he couldn't give me any details yet."

"Why would he bother mentioning something that isn't even available?"

"Who knows."

"Did he at least tell you what type of place it was?"

"Nope."

"Damn."

"Yeah." His sigh matched her own. "Maybe it's time to get someone else."

"Do you have anybody in mind?"

"No, but I can talk to Cam. Maybe she knows someone."

"Let me know what she says."

"You know I will."

His voice deepened and warmed on the words, and she hated that she couldn't be with him right now. It was a familiar, if somewhat disconcerting emotion, this constant need to be close to him.

_It's love, Bren. You'll get used to it._ Angela's voice echoed in her mind, a memory of a conversation they'd had a few weeks ago.

"Where are you now?" he asked.

"My hotel room. I was going to do some reading, but I'm surprisingly tired. I'll probably just go to bed. The train leaves early in the morning, and I don't want to oversleep."

"New Orleans next, right?"

"Yes, but we aren't scheduled to get into the station until 7:30, so I'll eat dinner on the train and go straight to my hotel when we arrive."

"Sounds boring. You should hit the Quarter. Take in some good ol' Creole cooking, listen to some jazz ..."

"The train was _your_ idea, remember? And it's actually quite pleasant. Besides, I'll be in New Orleans for two nights. I'm sure I'll manage to fit in some sight seeing."

"Todd's going to meet you at the station?"

"I don't expect him to. He'll be at the signing the day after tomorrow, but there's no reason for him to meet my train."

"Yes there is."

"Booth ..." She said it gently, knowing he wasn't going to like what she had to say, but knowing also that she had to say it. "You need to stop worrying. I can take care of myself."

His sigh made her shake her head. This level of concern couldn't possibly be healthy for him.

"I know you can take care of yourself," he said. "Hell, nobody knows that better than I do. But I'll still feel better when you get back."

"As will I." It was true, if only because she couldn't seem to stop herself from worrying about him in equal measure. "But try to relax. I agreed to take the train because you were convinced it was safer, even though there's no statistical data to support your claim. And Todd's with me at every stop. There's no reason for you to worry."

"Right, then." He sounded irritated with her, though she didn't know why. "I'll just turn that switch off."

"I don't understand."

She heard a faint snap, then the sound of something clattering against his desk. "Never mind."

There was a brief, awkward silence during which Brennan cast about for a way to bring their conversation back to safer waters, but Booth spoke first.

"Bones … Look. I'm sorry. It's been a long day, I'm exhausted, and I really, really hate paperwork."

"I know you do."

"You should get some sleep. Call me when you get to New Orleans, okay?"

"I will." Her gaze settled on the bright yellow flowers in their tiny vase, and she picked them up, closing her eyes as she inhaled their sweet fragrance. "Booth?"

"What?"

"Thanks again for the flowers."

"You're welcome again," he said, his voice soft and warm once more. "Goodnight, Bones."

"Goodnight, Booth."


	2. Chapter 2

Booth gathered the last few odds and ends he needed for the picnic, tossing napkins, a package of raisins, and a handful of cookies into the cooler before cleaning up the kitchen. He was due to pick up Parker in half an hour. They were going to spend the afternoon at the park. The football and frisbee were already on the kitchen table next to the ice chest and sunscreen. As Booth finished putting away the cold cuts and wiping down the counters his mind drifted back to the last Saturday he and Parker had spent together.

It had been one of those perfect spring days that always made him hate being trapped inside, so they'd decided on miniature golf instead of going to a movie. Afterwards they were going to meet Bones at Parker's favorite pizza joint. Booth had been unusually nervous, uncertain how Parker would react to the news he had to share.

After Parker scored not one, but three holes-in-one-including the free-game shot at the eighteenth hole-Booth had walked with his son to a nearby ice cream stand. They sat together on a tree-shaded bench while Parker wrapped himself around three scoops of double-dutch chocolate, and Booth tried to decide how to tell him about Bones.

"So … Parks," he started, as nervous as an elephant in a stampede of mice. "You like Bones, don't you?"

"Yeah," Parker said, in between licks of his ice cream cone. "She's cool." Another lick. "And she lets us swim in her pool."

"Yeah. Um. About that."

Parker glanced up apprehensively. "Did she take back her key?"

Booth wanted to smile, but couldn't quite get there. "Not exactly."

"Did somebody poop in the pool? When Lasky's baby sister did that he couldn't swim for two whole days. He was pretty mad."

Booth laughed. "I'm sure he was." He offered Parker a napkin, though it looked like the kid might need a hosing off instead. "And no. Nobody pooped in Bones's pool."

Obviously relieved, Parker swiped at a dribble of melted ice cream. "Then what's up?"

"Well, you see Parks, Bones is going to be moving soon."

Distracted from his treat, Parker stared at his dad. "Where?"

"I don't know, yet."

"But you're sure she's moving?"

"Yeah, I am."

"How come?"

Booth took a steadying breath and sent up a quick, fervent prayer.

"What would you say if I told you Bones and I were thinking about moving in together?"

Parker's eyes widened in surprise. "You're getting married?"

"No." Booth would have liked to give a different answer, but he wouldn't lie, no matter how awkward the truth might be. "At least, not yet."

"But she's going to be your girlfriend, right?"

Booth watched his son carefully, trying to gauge his reaction, but Parker was growing up, getting better at hiding his thoughts.

"Yeah." Booth took a sip of water from the bottle he held in his hand. "Something like that."

It seemed wrong to think of Bones as his girlfriend. She meant so much more to him than that rather juvenile term implied. But right now it was all he had.

"Does that mean you're going to have to quit your job?"

"What?" Taken by surprise by the question, Booth blinked. "No! Of course not!"

"But I don't want Bones to leave the Jeffersonian. I like going there."

"Bones isn't quitting, either. Why would you think that?"

"Because," Parker said. "She said she couldn't be your girlfriend if you worked together."

_Oh. Right. _

He'd forgotten about that.

Booth sighed. "She did say that, didn't she?"

Parker nodded solemnly and took another lick of his rapidly melting ice cream.

"Well, I've talked with my boss, and she's talked with hers, and they seem pretty okay with it." At least, Cam did. And Hacker's issues were personal rather than professional.

"Really?"

When Booth nodded Parker broke into a wide smile. "Awesome!"

Booth grinned his relief. "Yeah," he said. "It is pretty awesome, isn't it." One hurdle down, one to go.

"So when are you going to move?"

"I don't know, Parks. We're looking for a place now, but nothing's turned up, yet."

"Will it have a swimming pool?"

Amused, Booth ruffled his son's curly hair. "We'll see what we can do about that, okay?"

"Okay."

For the next few minutes Parker worked on his ice cream cone in contented silence while Booth considered how to broach his other big news. It wasn't until the last of the treat disappeared into Parker's chocolate-smeared mouth that Booth worked up the courage to bring it up.

"There's something else, Parker." He poured the last of his water over a handful of napkins he'd held in reserve and handed them to his son.

"What?" Parker swiped at the mess on his face, missing most of it.

There was no point trying to sugar-coat the facts. Parker was way too precocious for that.

"Bones is pregnant."

Slowly, Parker lowered the fistful of napkins to his lap. "What?"

"Bones is going to have a baby," Booth repeated. He didn't blame Parker for being surprised; he'd been pretty stunned himself. He was more worried about what came after the surprise wore off.

"But …" Parker was apparently having trouble wrapping his head around the news. "You two aren't married."

Oh, yeah. Here came the tricky part. "We've talked about that, Parks. You know that two people don't have to be married in order to have a baby together."

"But you said that only stupid people don't use birth control."

Booth cringed. He had said that. Almost word for word. "Yeah, well, I also said that sometimes accidents happen."

"Not to you."

"Yeah, buddy. Even to me." Booth gestured to the forgotten napkins in Parker's hand. "Finish wiping up," he said.

Parker did as he was told, but it was obvious he was thinking hard.

"So …" Parker said, tossing the dirty napkins in a nearby trash can. "Bones and the baby." There was a lonely note in Parker's voice that made Booth want to reach out to him, but he waited to hear what he was going to say. "They'll be your family now."

Booth put his hand on Parker's shoulder and waited until his son met his eyes.

"The _four_ of us are going to be a family, Parker." At his deliberate emphasis on the number, Booth saw a flash of relief in Parker's eyes. "Together." He squeezed lightly. "I'm always going to love you, Parks. Nothing and no one is _ever_ going to change that."

"But you're going to be busy with the new baby all the time. Lasky says that after his sister was born his parents forgot all about him."

Booth didn't need Sweets to tell him what Parker was getting at. "I'll never be too busy for you. _Never_."

"Will we still hang out together on weekends sometimes?"

"Twice a month. Just like clockwork."

Parker still seemed a little doubtful, but he nodded. "About the new place," he said, tilting his head. "Will I get my own room?"

"Absolutely." Booth ruffled his son's curly hair. "Maybe we'll even be able to get that dog you've been wanting."

"Really?" Excitement brightened Parker's eyes and set him bouncing on the bench.

Booth nodded, relieved by how easy it had been to allay his son's concerns. "No promises, okay? Bones and I will have to talk it over."

"Yeah. Okay." But Parker was on his feet now, ready to be moving on. "Hey, Dad?"

Booth turned from tossing his empty water bottle in the trash. "Yeah?"

"Should I still call her Bones?"

Booth smiled. "Why don't you ask her?"

Parker nodded. "Okay."

Dinner that night had been amazing. If he'd expected there to be any awkwardness between Bones and Parker they soon proved him wrong. Instead they'd spent most of the evening laughing, arguing over pizza toppings, and debating dog breeds. Bones, it turned out, had had a German shepherd when she was a little girl. Somehow he'd never known that about her.

Hours later, with Parker asleep and the apartment quiet and dark, Bones had still been in a good mood.

"He knows what we're doing in here, you know."

"Shh!" Booth glanced toward the locked bedroom door. "Not so loud!"

Bones laughed. "Oh. Well, then, I guess you don't want me to do this." She ran a trail of light nips across his chest, and he stifled a groan, wrapping one arm around her waist and tangling the other in her hair.

"Bones …"

"Or this." One hand slipped down his body, and with a light squeeze and a tug almost made him come up off the bed.

"Christ!"

She grinned at him unrepentantly. "Tsk tsk. Taking the lord's name in vain?"

"You," he said, trying to sound stern and failing miserably, "need to be careful."

"Oh?" Another tug. An impish sparkle in her eyes. "Why is that?"

Without warning, he wrapped his leg behind her knees and rolled, toppling her to her back.

"This is why."

He'd kissed her breathless, letting his hands run freely over her body until her low moans and the insistent thrust of her hips had become more than his self-control could take. He'd taken her up fast, and she'd matched him stroke for stroke, more than his equal in both stamina and enthusiasm. And afterwards, when they'd lain side by side, chests heaving, she'd looked at him and grinned.

Thinking back on that night as he gathered up the picnic supplies and turned out the light, Booth smiled. Bones had once told him she thought they'd be highly compatible in bed. She'd been right. There might be a hundred differences they still had to work through outside the bedroom, but inside it? Inside, they were magic.

*x*x*x*x*

There'd been only one signing scheduled in New Orleans. After it was over Todd and Brennan had ventured to the French Quarter for dinner. The outing had been pleasant, even though she'd chosen to avoid most of the spicier dishes and opted for a few sips of red wine over the Abita Amber that Todd had selected.

Booth had been adamant that she give up alcohol during her pregnancy, despite the studies she'd cited supporting the theory that moderation was more important than abstinence. She'd even pointed out the benefits of red wine in terms of disease prevention and cardiovascular health, but he'd been unmoved. And her attempt to initiate a conversation regarding the conflicting cultural attitudes toward alcohol in the United States had been met with stony silence. Her obstetrician suggested a compromise that he'd agreed to, albeit reluctantly. Since then she'd allowed herself an occasional glass of red wine, but never when they were together.

After dinner she and Todd had joined the throngs of tourists strolling the streets of the French Quarter. She had enjoyed the musicians very much, though more than once she'd wished Booth was with her. She still remembered how surprised he'd been when he'd first learned that she liked jazz, and though Todd was certainly a well-informed and interesting companion she would have preferred sharing this experience with Booth.

By mutual agreement the evening had ended early, and Todd dropped her off at her hotel with a casual wave and assurances that he was looking forward to seeing her in Houston. She closed the door behind her, turned, and looked down when something shifted under her foot. Puzzled, she bent to pick up an envelope, turning it over in her hands. There was no return address, nor any other identification.

Inside she found a short note written on a single sheet of lined paper. Brennan read it, shook her head, and crumpled it up, tossing it in the trash as she moved into the bathroom. She barely remembered the man from the dining car and certainly had no interest in pursuing the sort of relationship he was suggesting.

Another trio of daffodils had been on her nightstand when she'd arrived the night before. They were still there, brightening the room's generic atmosphere and bringing a smile to Brennan's face. Putting the note out of her mind, Brennan got ready for bed, then settled down against the pillows and reached for her cell phone.

Booth answered on the first ring. "Bones?"

"Hi, Booth." She smiled, her eyes on the daffodils. "Just letting you know I'm in for the night."

"I'm glad you called," he said. "How was your day?"

"Not bad. Todd was angry when he discovered that the store hadn't ordered as many copies of my book as he'd told them to, but he managed to find more in time for the signing."

"Did you need the extra copies?"

"We sold out," she said, a fact she was still quite pleased about.

"Congratulations!" He sounded genuinely happy for her. "And did you do the French Quarter thing for dinner?"

"Yes, we did. Todd and I enjoyed a very pleasant meal and and then a walk. I wish you could have been there. I would have enjoyed listening to the music with you."

"We'll go back together some day," he said. "We'll stay in one of those B&Bs right there in the Quarter, do the tourist thing during the day-" His voice lowered suggestively. "-and make sweet bluesy love all night long."

She laughed even as her body warmed to the image. "And do what with the baby, Booth?"

"He can stay with Aunt Angela and Uncle Jack. I'm sure they'd love to have him."

"He?" Her hand settled on her abdomen, the way it so often did these days. "What if it's a little girl?"

"Then she'd better stay with Aunt Cam. We wouldn't want little Michael Staccato Vincent-" She could hear the amusement in his voice. "-to get any ideas."

She laughed again. "I don't think we need to worry too much about her virtue just yet."

"I'm not taking any chances."

She was still smiling when she hung up the phone a few minutes later. The thought of vacationing in New Orleans, of sharing its history and rich cultural diversity with him, was intriguing-definitely something they would have to discuss again in a year or two. Some New Orleans memories that didn't involve voodoo, black magic, and murder would be quite pleasant.

Her cellphone flashed with an incoming email, and she toggled over to see who sent it, then rolled her eyes. Angela again. Brennan didn't have to read the message to know the subject. She set the phone aside. She would call Angela tomorrow during the trip to Houston. There would be plenty of time to talk during the nine hour journey-though the more Brennan thought about it, the more convinced she'd become that Angela's concerns were unwarranted.

She extended her legs, pushed back against the pillows in a long, luxurious stretch, and let her thoughts drift back to the night they'd loaded Vincent's casket for the trip to the airport. Booth had been surprisingly pensive, she remembered, and on impulse she'd linked her arm with his. Only after the hearse's taillights disappeared around the bend did she and Booth turn away from the loading dock. Then, for reasons she still didn't quite understand she'd stopped him just outside the door. He had looked over at her with a question in his eyes, and what she'd said next had surprised her almost as much as it seemed to have surprised him.

"I don't …" She'd paused, knowing that she needed him, hoping he wouldn't turn her away. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

He'd hesitated for an instant before nodding. When she'd pulled out of the parking lot a few minutes later his car had been right behind hers, and it had stayed there all the way back to her apartment.

He followed her inside, then waited while she closed and locked the door. When she turned back he hadn't moved. He was just standing there, waiting, and she knew intuitively that the next move had to be hers. Without speaking she stepped in close and reached up to trace the outline of his clavicle where it rose against the cotton of his shirt. Then slowly, deliberately, she flattened her hand and slid it down to press against his chest, feeling it rise against her palm with his sudden sharp intake of breath. The sound of air hissing between his teeth, the way his eyes closed for an instant, then opened again to meet hers, made heat churn low in her stomach.

"Bones …" His voice was low. Strangled. "I can't …" But his lips brushed against her forehead, belying the implied rejection.

She lifted her other hand and placed it beside the first. Thumbs touching. Fingers splayed wide. He had a very broad sternum with well-developed musculature. Impressive.

"Don't do this if you aren't absolutely sure," he managed, and she felt the shape of the words in the way his lips moved against her skin. "If you run again …"

She looked up, and bit her lip at the fire she saw in his gaze. She'd once told a witness that it was a myth that a person's desires could be seen in the eyes. She'd been wrong. Very wrong. "I'm not running anywhere," she said softly, and watched his gaze drop to her lips. Beneath her palm his heart rate had accelerated noticeably. She was ready for this, had wanted it for a long time. But she wasn't yet certain of what he wanted. "Are you still angry?"

He shook his head. His fingers found hers. Folded over them. His voice was barely more than a whisper. "No."

She stared at their joined hands, at the way his longer fingers fit around and among her own. His free hand slipped into her hair, the pressure of his palm tilting her face up to his, and when he kissed her, she couldn't help the faint gasp that rose in her throat or the way her body melted into his.

This. This was what she had wanted, what she'd been waiting for-the feel of his mouth moving over hers, the way he smelled, the sound he made in the back of his throat. These were all things she had longed for, things she'd glimpsed but never grasped. She opened to him with a hungry moan that made his hand tighten in her hair as he accepted her silent invitation.

For the first time she was free to touch him, but there were still barriers between her hands and his skin. She hated those barriers, hated anything that kept her from getting closer. Impatient, she broke the kiss. Clothes were annoying. An impediment. A frustrating obstacle to be overcome. She shoved the coat off his shoulders, letting it fall unheeded to the floor as she reached for his tie, and he worked the buttons of her blouse.

"Bones … God, baby. Wait." Voice rough, he eased away from her just long enough to tug off his tie. Tossing it aside, he pulled her back into his arms and slid his hands under the hem of her blouse. She felt herself go hot and tight as all of her awareness centered on that first breathtaking touch of his hands on her bare skin.

She pushed into him. Tugged at the buttons of his shirt. Shoved aside crisp, cool cotton. He was backing her toward her bedroom, but she neither knew nor cared whether they would make it that far. She only knew that she needed him closer. _Much _closer. His hands were in her hair again, then at her shoulders, pushing her blouse out of the way and following it down her back, sweeping over her skin in tight, possessive waves that made her back arch and her breath snag in her throat.

"Booth … I want …"

"Shh," he said, his hands already at her waistband as he pushed her back and she fell to the bed. "I know."

Her shoes were gone, though she had no memory of taking them off, and in another instant he'd unbuttoned her slacks and was tugging them down over her hips. She reached to help him. Anxious. Eager. Hungry. He followed her down to the bed, the weight of his body pushing her into the mattress, and though she usually preferred to be the aggressor during sexual encounters, it didn't occur to her to object. So good. He felt so, so good.

Her hands roamed freely, exploring the textures of his skin with rough impatience before sliding past the barrier of his pants and evoking a guttural moan that made her smile against his neck. There was satisfaction in knowing that she could move him as deeply as he moved her.

She yanked at the fabric "Off," she demanded, and despite the intensity of the moment she thought she heard him laugh.

He got to his feet, and she watched, need making the blood thrum in her veins, while he unzipped his pants. They slid down his legs, pooling at his feet with a faint jingle of loose change and the deeper thud of his cell phone hitting the carpet. Ignoring both, she reached for him, pulling him down and rolling so that she came up beside him, already exploring the planes and angles of his chest with lips and teeth and hands. Her legs tangled with his. And still it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

His hips shifted beneath her, and he let out another moan, his hands busy at the clasp of her bra. And then it, too, was gone, and she sucked in a breath as her breasts came in contact with his chest and all that was left between them were his boxers and her panties, and a minute later those, too, were gone, and Booth's arms were around her, and this time he was the one to roll, the one to come up on top, his hands bracketing her face, pushing strands of hair aside as he searched her eyes, though she didn't know what he hoped to find. She felt his erection against her leg, the hard, hot throb of it making her bite her lip and thrust her hips toward his. Yet he hesitated.

"What?" she asked.

Breathless.

Impatient.

She wanted him. Inside her.

Now.

"Bones, I don't … I didn't plan for this."

It took her hormone-fogged mind a moment to register what he was saying. Then she shook her head, reached down, and dragged at his hips.

"It doesn't matter," she said. She would have to tell him. To explain. But later. Not now. "It's okay." Later.

And still he waited. Still he searched her eyes.

"Booth." Frustrated, she arched her back, pushing into him. "Please."

He studied her for another fraction of a second. Then he was moving, finding his place while she bent her knees, her hands flexing against his arms. She pushed back against the pillows, lifting her hips to meet the single long thrust that took him deep inside her body. His eyes snapped shut, his back and neck arched with the strength of his thrust, and Brennan held there with him for an instant. Deep. So deep. And hard and hot and … Her fingers curled into his thickly muscled biceps, and her breath locked in her throat.

She needed more. And faster. And … More.

She pulled her hips back. Twisted. Snapped upward again. He groaned, his eyes opening to meet hers.

"God, Bones …" His voice trailed off as he met her thrust with one of his own. "God, yes."

Together they raced toward a finish line she saw reflected in his eyes and felt in the way his body tensed and trembled against hers. She had a vague awareness of his impending release just as her own cascaded over her, and then there was nothing except the explosion of muscular contractions, the breath hitching in her throat, and the sound of her name whispered in the dark.

Awareness returned slowly, bringing with it the knowledge that what they'd just done would change their relationship in drastic and irrevocable ways. When she turned her head, would she see doubt in his eyes? Regret? She summoned her courage, rolled to her side to face him, and felt a surge of relief when she found only contentment-and a healthy portion of male satisfaction-in his warm, brown gaze.

"So," he said, smiling at her. "Compatible?"

She pretended to consider the problem, tilting her head to one side and walking her fingers across his chest as a giddy kind of weightlessness flowed through her body and lifted a smile onto her face. "I don't know. I think the question requires more extensive research."

He laughed, a rich, deep laugh that lit up his eyes. His arm came around her shoulders, drawing her close. "Well, you know me, Bones. I'm a big fan of thorough research."

They'd enjoyed two more encounters that night, though both times had been slower, more languorous, punctuated with murmurs and sighs and occasional laughter as he discovered the ticklish spot just beneath her ribs and she explored the bottoms of his feet. They had finally fallen asleep just as the first rays of the sun had crept over the horizon. Sated. Content.

Together.

Brennan emerged from the vivid memories to find that she'd wrapped her arms around a pillow and was hugging it tight against her chest. Loneliness, deep and aching, rolled through her. She wanted him with her. Here. Wanted to feel his arms around her and smell the scent of his skin and hear the warm timber of his voice. With a frustrated curse she got up and crossed to the bathroom. Maybe a shower would help.

She tossed and turned that night, overslept the next morning, and had to scramble to make it to the station on time. She was riding coach for this leg of the journey, so she checked the majority of her luggage, stashing her cellphone and e-reader in a small carry-on bag and her laptop in its leather case. Once on board, and with nothing to do but wait, Brennan pulled out her phone. It seemed as good a time as any to respond to Angela's message.

"So?" Apparently Angela no longer felt it necessary to engage in conversational preliminaries. "Did you tell him?"

"Hello, Angela." Brennan lowered her voice in imitation of her friend's. "Why are we whispering?"

"Oh. Sorry about that. I just put Michael down for a nap. Give me a second."

Brennan heard a soft click followed by several seconds of silence, and then a long sigh.

"Let's just hope he sleeps for a while," Angela said, her voice no longer muffled but still quiet.

"The books I've read say that a baby's sleep patterns can be quite erratic," Brennan observed.

"Don't I know it." Angela let out an exhausted laugh. "Sleep deprivation, my friend. You too can look like death." Brennan heard a click and then a faint burst of static as Angela turned on the baby monitor. "It's a good thing Hodgins and I are already married."

"I don't see how those things are related."

"Oh, honey. Wait a few months. You'll learn."

"But Booth and I aren't married."

"Right." Brennan heard water running. "Whatever." The water turned off. "Listen. You and I need to have a serious talk."

"About what?"

"You know what."

"Angela …"

"No, Bren." It was Angela's stern voice, the one Brennan envisioned her using with Michael when he got older. "You have to tell him the truth."

"No. I've been thinking about this a great deal. Sweets says that white lies play a crucial role in human interaction. I didn't believe him at first, but I've come to see that maybe he has a point." There was a jerk as the train started moving. "Even Booth lies, Angela. He admitted it."

"This isn't some little white lie, Brennan. This is big. Huge."

"Why? Booth and I had sex. I'm pregnant. He's the father. Those are the relevant facts." Across the aisle, a middle-aged woman shot Brennan a scandalized glare and clapped her hands over her child's ears. Brennan only just managed not to roll her eyes. Sex was part of being human, one of the best parts in her opinion. She didn't understand why some people were so prudish about it.

"Not all of them," Angela insisted, drawing Brennan's attention back to the discussion at hand.

"They're the only ones that matter."

"Brennan ..." Angela sounded worried. "Booth's a smart guy. He's gonna figure it out. And when he does he's gonna be pissed."

"Are you going to tell him?"

"No! Of course not!"

"Neither am I."

"You aren't seriously asking me to forget about this, are you?"

"Yes, I am. In fact, I'm starting to think I shouldn't have told you at all. Obviously it's causing you significant distress."

"No. Sweetie … I'm glad you trusted me. I just wish you trusted Booth, too."

"This isn't about trust."

"Yes it is," Angela insisted. "Deep down inside you're afraid of what Booth will do when he finds out."

"Booth is a reasonable man. He would understand."

"Right," Angela said, her tone heavy with sarcasm. "The same reasonable man who came back from a war zone with another woman on his arm."

"That wasn't his fault." Instantly defensive on his behalf, Brennan shook her head. "I turned him down."

"Whatever. The point is, he broke your heart, and you don't want to risk that happening again. I get it." Angela's voice softened. "But Booth isn't going anywhere, Bren. He loves you."

"He's never said that." But he had said it to Hannah. And when Hannah had rejected his proposal he'd sent her away. She took a deep breath. "I know what I'm doing, Angela." Biting her lip, Brennan gazed out at the passing scenery. Booth never had to know the details.

"You have to do what you think is best," Angela said, though she sounded doubtful. "Just … Take care, okay? Of the baby _and_ yourself?"

Brennan refrained from correcting Angela's terminology. "Of course I will."

After they said their goodbyes Brennan put her cell phone away and settled in to watch Louisiana's marshland give way to the broad, derrick-studded expanse of east Texas. She'd made the correct decision. She was sure of it. But Angela's concern still weighed heavily in her mind.

_I'm with someone, Bones. And Hannah … She's not a consolation prize. I love her._

The memory of Booth's words on that rain-drenched night still triggered a faint ache in her chest. He'd offered to call someone to stay with her, but she'd turned him down.

Tears had mingled with the lingering traces of rainwater on her cheeks. Not bothering to wipe them away, she shook her head. "No, I'm fine."

.

.

.

Alone.

Her parents' disappearance and Russ's subsequent desertion had convinced her that _alone_ was the only safe way to be, that the only person she could ever truly count on was herself. Booth had challenged that belief in ways no one else ever had. He'd pushed her to look beyond science and rational thought, to consider the possibility that she couldn't control the dynamics of human interaction or extrapolate future events based solely on her own experiences-that her life would be richer without those self-imposed restraints.

By the time she'd come back from Maluku she'd decided that maybe he was right. Maybe she had guarded her heart too closely and for too long. Maybe love really was, if not more important than truth, then at least equally so.

It had been painful to realize that she hadn't been wrong after all. In fact love was both fickle and fleeting. And Booth himself had provided her with the proof. In a few short months he'd gone from wanting to spend thirty or forty years with her to being in love with Hannah. As Micah would have said, "Ipso facto Columbo oreo." Love _was_ transient.

Her apartment had seemed unusually quiet that night, and Brennan had turned on the stereo to combat the oppressive silence. Then she'd showered, letting the water cascade over her for a long time, washing away her tears and with them, the last vestiges of hope that she might have a future with Booth. She'd emerged from the steamy enclosure still deeply hurt, but with growing resolve. Regrets were counter-productive. There was nothing she could do about the past; it was time to think about the future.

Dry, warm, and with a glass of good red wine in hand, she made some important decisions that night. Life changing decisions. She would rely on herself, make her own choices, direct her own future. There were certain things she wanted for herself, things she'd put off out of consideration for Booth's feelings. She wasn't going to do that anymore. So she retrieved a thick folder from her filing cabinet and took it with her to the couch. For the next two hours she went through the contents with painstaking care, reading, taking notes … Planning.

The choice she made, the decision she faced, was hers alone. He would have no part in it. She would, in fact, discuss it with nobody, at least for a while. Angela would only try to talk her out of it, and Booth … Booth had Hannah. That was his primary relationship, and Brennan would do everything in her power to protect that and ensure his happiness-even if it meant withholding information that she once would have shared.

Weeks later, after Booth and Hannah broke up, Brennan had briefly reconsidered her resolution not to confide in him. But he'd been so angry, and so adamant that their relationship be limited by the boundaries of their partnership, that she'd decided it was best to keep her own counsel. She hadn't questioned her judgment again until the night she and Booth had burned those silly pieces of paper, but even then her doubts had been fleeting. This was the path she'd chosen for herself, a piece of her future whose outcome would be determined by the precise and dispassionate hand of science.

And now … now the point was moot. She was pregnant, and whether it was because of the choices she'd made months ago or because of those she'd made a few short weeks ago was irrelevant. She loved Booth. Of that she had no doubt. But she was less certain of his feelings toward her and unwilling to expose their still-fragile relationship to any unnecessary stress.

*x*x*x*x*

Todd Richardson wiped the sweat off his brow with his handkerchief, tucked it back in his pocket, and sighed his gratitude for the air-conditioned interior of Tucson's east side Barnes & Noble as the heavy door whispered closed behind him. Granted, Arizona's dry heat was easier to take than Houston's spongy humidity, but he was really looking forward to the northern leg of this tour.

He glanced at his watch and shook his head. Traffic had been a nightmare, and he only had half an hour to get set up before Temperance arrived. A quick scan of the store made him sigh. Apparently her fans had already started drifting in. He saw at least a dozen customers with copies of her book in their hands, and another dozen milled about near the back of the store. With an hour to go before the event started it promised to be another good turnout. He gave the hem of his sports coat a quick tug, straightened his tie, and set off to find the manager.

Sixty-five minutes later Todd turned over the podium to Temperance. He'd heard her speech half a dozen times by now and knew it almost by heart, so he only listened with half an ear as he did a quick head count and recorded the figure in his notebook. His cellphone lay on the table in front of him while he worked, and when the message came in he saw the alert flash across its screen. He picked it up and turned to one side, hoping to reply without drawing the attention of Temperance's audience. He needn't have worried. A quick glance assured him that they were totally involved in the brief lecture. Secure in that knowledge, he glanced down at the now familiar message.

_How's she doing?_

Always the same three words. And so far his response had been equally consistent.

_Great!_

He keyed it in and hit the send button before returning his phone to the tabletop. He wondered if Temperance knew about the regular text messages he received from her FBI partner, then decided probably not. She didn't seem like the type of woman who would appreciate being checked up on. But if his suspicions were correct, he didn't blame Mr. Booth for keeping tabs on her.

When Temperance had originally requested that he rework her itinerary he'd wondered why, but he hadn't asked. She was one of his less demanding clients, and even though she was a little blunt at times he'd grown to like and respect her, so he didn't begrudge her the hours spent on the phone rearranging her schedule and changing the travel arrangements. Then when he'd finally caught up to her in Atlanta at the start of the tour he'd noticed she was different. Softer somehow. Less intense.

That initial signing in Atlanta had been the first time Todd had heard from Mr. Booth. He'd been puzzled by the message and a little surprised that Temperance had shared his contact information, but since he knew they were partners he'd replied readily enough. There had been identical text messages at every stop, nearly always at the beginning of the signing, and always with the same question.

It hadn't seemed necessary to mention the brief interactions to Temperance, so he'd kept the information to himself, though he'd watched her carefully, trying to put his finger on what might have caused the changes he was seeing. It wasn't until New Orleans, when she'd avoided the spicy foods she'd once told him she loved, that he put the pieces together. Now he looked up, watching her as she responded to a question from a fan. Her eyes sparkled with humor, and she was smiling broadly, two things he didn't remember seeing very often on their first tour.

On a whim he picked up his phone and snapped a picture, capturing her just as she turned toward him. It was a good shot. He wished he'd had his camera ready so he could've gotten it at a higher resolution, but as he hit the button to send it to her partner he realized he didn't really mind. He'd taken other pictures during the tour, and would continue to do so throughout the three remaining weeks of the trip. He could afford to give this one up.

Temperance was wrapping up her speech, so Todd checked to make sure her water glass was full and her pens were ready. She always asked for two, preferred blue ink over black, and standard ball point over gel, but despite those clear preferences, she never complained if he gave her something else. Maybe that was why he always carried a box of her favorite pens in his briefcase-something he didn't do for most of his other clients.

When the talk ended Todd spent a busy few minutes organizing the excited crowd into something resembling a queue. Then he circulated among them, shaking hands and telling short, innocuous stories about his experiences working with Temperance. It was a tried and true technique for easing the wait, and the fans seemed to appreciate it, especially one business-suited gentleman he thought he'd seen in Houston, and maybe even in Atlanta before that. Groupies weren't uncommon, and this one, though obviously an avid fan of Temperance's work, seemed harmless, so Todd spent a few minutes talking with him about his favorite books before moving on.

Two hours later Temperance finally finished signing the last book, thanked the woman for her support, and set down her pen with a sigh and a rub at the back of her neck. Todd was helping with clean-up by then, folding chairs and collecting the inevitable detritus that seemed to accumulate after these events. He glanced over at her, noted that she looked tired, and excused himself to the clerk he'd been helping in order to cross over to her.

"Doing all right?" he asked, dropping to a crouch beside her chair.

She straightened her shoulders and gave him a tired smile. "I'm fine," she said. Then she shook out her arm. "These events always make my wrist ache."

"I can get you some Tylenol, if you'd like."

She shook her head, as he'd suspected she would. "No, I'm fine. Let's finish up here and go get something to eat."

Temperance autographed an extra three dozen copies of her book while he finished helping with the cleanup. Then, after a final word with the manager, Todd escorted his charge out of the store and into the waning afternoon.

"Four hours until I need to be at the station," Temperance said. "Know any good hangouts?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her. Hangouts? That was a recent addition to her vocabulary. "We'll find something." He keyed the button to unlock the car doors and opened hers for her, waiting until she was in to close it again.

By the time he got in on the other side she had her head tilted back, her eyes closed.

"What are you hungry for?" he asked.

"Something light," she said. "And someplace quiet."

Forty-five minutes later their server placed their meals in front of them, refilled their water glasses, and hurried off to another table. Temperance arranged her napkin in her lap before reaching for her fork. Todd watched her eat, noting that she spent a lot of time pushing food around on her plate instead of putting it in her mouth. He didn't think it was the quality of the food. Her salad looked crisp and fresh, and his steak was excellent. Still, it wasn't long before she pushed her plate away and sat back.

"Not as hungry as you thought you were?" he asked.

She smiled faintly. "I guess not."

He'd known her for three years, and though their relationship had always been more that of professional colleagues than friends, he felt they'd established a certain level of trust, so her reaction to his next comment caught him off guard.

"When are you due?" he asked, and saw her eyes snap up to his, a mixture of wariness and consternation in their depths.

"That's a very astute observation on your part," she said. "How did you know?"

He ticked the clues off on his fingers. "You had me completely rearrange your itinerary and travel plans, you've been unusually tired, and you've taken to wearing clothes that don't bind your waist." He was puzzled by her reaction. Was there some reason she hadn't wanted him to know? "Those are the facts," he said, aware of her preference for logic and science. "But there are other changes, too. You aren't as driven as you used to be, and there's a-" he searched for the word he wanted, came up empty, and shrugged. "-a gentler way about you."

When her eyebrows shot up he smiled and lifted his shoulders in casual apology. "Three sisters," he said. "And a litter of nieces and nephews. You learn to recognize the signs."

She studied him for a minute, her gaze sharp and penetrating. "December," she said finally.

A quick backward calculation. A nod. "Just coming off that first trimester, then," he said. "Was it a bitch?"

She tilted her head. "A bitch is a female dog."

Once he might've laughed his surprise at her literal interpretation, but he knew her better now. "No. I mean was it hard? Did you have a lot of morning sickness?"

"No," she said. "Aside from tiring more easily, I feel quite well."

"You're lucky. My sisters both spent those first three or four months on a diet of saltines and ginger tea."

"That's very wise. Ginger can be an effective treatment for nausea. And crackers absorb excess stomach acid."

He snorted a laugh. "I don't think they cared why it helped. Tea and crackers were just the only things they could keep down."

"I see." She was watching him steadily, an odd, intense expression on her face, and he wondered what she was thinking. Experience had taught him that with Temperance Brennan, it always paid to be alert.

"Can I ask you a hypothetical question?"

_Ah. There it came._ He recognized the tone. Whatever she had on her mind was probably going to make him squirm.

"Shoot."

"How would you feel if a woman used your sperm without discussing it with you first?"

_Nope. Not ready. Not even close. Damn it all, anyway._ He swallowed hard and tried for a tone of casual curiosity.

"Excuse me?" Nope. That was definitely a strangled croak. _Damn._

"I said …"

"No, no-" he waved her off. "I heard what you said. I meant-" Was _that_ how it had happened-a brilliant, gorgeous woman like her? "Why would you ask me that?"

She blinked. "Because you're a man and I'm not. I don't have any sperm of my own."

Todd struggled to find his equilibrium. "So, what … " He lowered his voice, glanced about the crowded restaurant. "We're talking about artificial insemination?"

Her expression made it clear that she was questioning his intelligence, but she nodded. "Yes."

"I thought those things were done anonymously? You know. Pick the guy you like out of a book or something."

"Yes." She nodded. "It's often handled anonymously."

"But yours wasn't."

"No."

"So … You know who your baby's father is."

"Of course I do."

Of course she did. And then it dawned on him, and he wanted to kick himself. The text messages. The look in her eyes whenever his name came up.

_Oh._

_Oh, boy._

"Does _he_ know the kid is his?"

"Yes. But …" She hesitated. Her gaze slid away from his, and she bit her lip. Bad signs, those. "He doesn't know about the IVF."

Confused, he stared at her. "He knows you're pregnant, knows he's the father, but _doesn't_ know about the IVF?" Saying the words clarified the situation, and suddenly he wished he were anywhere but here. He didn't want this responsibility. "So … Your pregnancy …"

"Might have resulted from sexual intercourse, yes."

Startled by her candor, his gaze flew to the nearby tables, checking for possible eavesdroppers. He felt a rush of pure relief when nobody appeared to be paying attention to their discussion. Turning back to his companion, he found her watching him quizzically.

"I don't understand why people get so flustered over the topic of sex," she said. "It's as natural a part of the human condition as eating and sleeping."

Todd knew better than to tackle that discussion. It was one they'd had before, and he'd long since despaired of making her understand.

"No. It's okay," he said. "I was just looking for our server. I thought maybe we'd order some dessert."

She looked skeptical, but a moment later she gestured to somebody behind him, and Todd found himself ordering a piece of pie he didn't really want.

"So … What exactly is your question again?" he asked, when they were alone. He hadn't forgotten, but he needed time to process.

Temperance spoke slowly, as if explaining a difficult concept to a small child. It would have made him smile if he weren't so damned uncomfortable.

"Would you be upset if you discovered that the woman you were involved with had used your sperm to become pregnant without discussing it with you, first?"

_Wow. Just … This was … all kinds of fucked up._ He fought down his first instinct, which was to shout at her, to ask her if she'd lost her fucking mind, to say of course he'd be pissed. He'd be so fucking pissed he wouldn't be able to see straight.

"I don't understand," he said, fighting for calm. "If you two were involved, why would a fertility clinic even be in the picture?"

She took a sip of water, pushed her plate away, and folded her arms on the table. Then she paused as their server arrived with his pie and their check. When the man stepped away again Todd felt the full force of her attention focused on him and tried not to squirm. With clinical detachment and clear, concise speech, she outlined her own case history as coolly as if she were laying out plot points for her next novel.

"So," she asked at last, sitting back and folding her arms as she drew the messy and complicated story to a close. "Would you be angry?"

_Hell, yes._ He'd be angry. Other woman or not, it was his sperm. His kid. His. Fucking. Kid.

And yet he couldn't help feeling a certain amount of sympathy for her situation. Literal thinker that she was, she'd taken her partner at his word when he'd said he loved this other woman. Todd couldn't fault her for that, nor for taking control of her future. He could even, almost, understand her use of the donated sperm. There'd been permission of a sort-albeit two years ago-and if her partner hadn't actively rescinded that permission she would have considered it still valid. He discarded her insistence that her choice of sperm donors was based entirely on physical and psychological indicators. Todd wasn't an idiot. And he wasn't blind. Temperance Brennan had it bad for her partner, would, he suspected, willingly trade her life for his. He imagined she couldn't conceive of carrying any other man's child.

And yet …

Todd didn't know much about Seeley Booth, but he knew enough to be pretty sure the man was both conservative and traditional when it came to matters of the heart. Plus, he was an FBI agent-a damned good one, if Temperance's occasional off-hand comments bore any semblance of credibility. Combine that with Mr. Booth's military background, and Todd came up with a guy who would blow a gasket over this.

Todd pushed away his empty pie plate without any clear memory of having eaten.

"So your friend Angela thinks you should come clean," he said, choosing his words carefully. "But you don't agree." She was rationalizing there, but he let it pass for now. Hell, it was probably the least of her problems.

"That's correct."

He blew out a long sigh as he sat back in his chair. "Shit, Temperance. I don't know _what_ to say."

Her gaze didn't waver from his. "You haven't answered my initial question."

"Which question was that?"

"Would you be angry?"

He hesitated. Blew out a breath. "Yeah." Worry flared in her eyes, and he wished he could've given her a different answer. He leaned in again, making sure he had her undivided attention. "Look, I can't advise you on whether or not to tell him," he said, "I think you have to make up your own mind about that." If she did tell him, Todd hoped Mr. Hotshot FBI Agent didn't do anything stupid, because if he did, Todd would have to personally kick his ass, gun or no gun.. "But yeah, if he finds out, I think he's going to be pissed."

Temperance nodded her head. She seemed calm enough, but Todd suspected that underneath that cool facade she was one confused mess. Had he known her better he would have drawn her into a comforting hug as they left the restaurant. As it was all he could do was respect her silence as they made their way back to the car and then on to the train station. He carried her luggage in for her, waited for her to check in, and as she turned to leave, stopped her with a touch on her arm.

"I'll see you in LA?" he said.

She nodded. "Of course you will."

"If you need anything, Temperance, anything at all …"

"I'll be fine," she insisted, but her face still had that pinched, worried look. "You should go. You've got a plane to catch."

She was right, and there was nothing else he could do anyway. But she'd long since disappeared into the crowd when he turned to walk away-only to stop when his cellphone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, his gut tightening when he read Booth's message.

_Arriving LA 1330 tomorrow plz advise re probable location_

Oh …

Shit.


	3. Chapter 3

His first glimpse of her was through a forest of waving hands that dropped like felled timber when somebody in the front of the room asked a question. She started talking about skeletal structure, explaining the difference between bone and cartilage, and he zoned out in favor of just looking at her. Her hair shone in the sunlight that streamed in through the windows, and she gestured gracefully as she made a point, her eyes flashing with passion and intelligence.

He knew the instant she spotted him. Her eyes lit up with surprised pleasure, and she broke into a brilliant smile. He wanted to rush forward, but he held his ground and settled for a smile of his own, a small wave of his hand, and a nod. She was working. He could wait.

While she answered questions he let his eyes roam the crowd. They were a well-behaved bunch, eager for her attention but willing to wait their turn-nothing like sports fans. His gaze tracked to the head table and settled on Todd Richardson. Dressed in a coat and tie, clean-shaven, and with his dark hair neatly trimmed, Todd appeared every inch the professional he was. He was good for Bones, helping her maintain a balance between two demanding careers. Booth respected that.

As if sensing he was being watched Todd glanced up. Booth nodded. Returning the gesture, Todd reached for something on the table in front of him. A moment later Booth felt the telltale vibration of an incoming text message. Taking out his cellphone, he glanced down. And grinned.

_How's she doing?_

Amused, he looked back up at Todd, saw the quiet humor in the other man's eyes, and gave a quick thumbs up before returning his attention to Bones.

She wore a peach-colored scoop-necked blouse today, along with one of the chunky necklaces she loved so much. Her full skirt swirled around her legs when she moved, and she wore simple, open-toed sandals on her feet. She looked like she belonged on the beach or in a sunny park filled with kids, balloons, and maybe a dog or two. It was a lighter, softer side of her that he rarely got to see.

Bones concluded her talk, and Todd got to his feet as she accepted a round of applause. While he poked and prodded the audience into line, she sat down, took a sip of water, and picked up a pen. She was going to be tied up for at least another hour, so Booth wandered off to explore.

It took a some time to settle on what he wanted, but Booth finally chose two books for Parker, an "Don't mess with the boss" mug for Cam, and a set of those stick-figure-family decals that were all the rage for Angela and Hodgins. He even found a chewable book for Michael. By the time he returned to the signing Bones was finishing with her last fan. Booth waited until the man stepped away, book tucked protectively under one arm, before finally crossing to her side.

Ignoring Todd, he dropped his bag of gifts on the table and pulled Bones into his arms. He held her close, his cheek resting against the dark silk of her hair as he closed his eyes and just … breathed. Her head settled against his chest and her arms cinched tight around his back, and for several long seconds neither one of them moved. When her grip on him eased he drew back to frame her face with his hands.

"Hi, beautiful," he said softly. "Miss me?"

She snorted and gave him a half-hearted shove. "Not at all."

But he saw the lie of it in her eyes and had to fight the urge to reach for her again. Instead he summoned his self control and took a half step back, wondering how long he'd have to wait before he could get her alone someplace.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Oh, you know-" He shrugged, fighting a smile. "Just happened to be in the neighborhood." At her dubious expression he relented. "I talked Hacker into giving me a week off. Thought maybe we could rent a car, drive up to San Francisco together."

Catching her sidelong glance at Todd, Booth reached out to shake the younger man's hand. "Good to see you again."

"Back at'cha." Todd smiled warmly. "How was your flight?"

"Five and a half hours in a glorified tin can," Booth said. "What's not to love?" He shook his head. "But it got me here."

"That's all that matters."

Booth's gaze tracked back to Bones. He watched her gather books into a pile, her hands moving over the task with easy efficiency. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, it is."

He glanced up to find Todd watching him. They shared a look of understanding.

"So," Booth said, changing the subject. "This was it for today, yes?"

"Not just for today," Todd said. "We're finished here in LA. Next signing's on Saturday up in San Fran."

"I thought you had one more stop here." It had been in her itinerary, which Booth had long since committed to memory.

"At Borders." Todd nodded. "Cancelled. Store went out of business." He reached out, stilling Bones's hand against the stack of books. "Why don't you let me finish up here," he said.

"Are you certain?" Bones asked. "It would be inconsiderate of us to leave you with all the clean-up."

"I'm sure." He gave Bones a look that made Booth raise his eyebrows and cast her a curious glance. "Besides, I imagine you and Mr. Booth have some catching up to do."

"Drop the mister," Booth said. "Every time I hear it I look around for my grandfather."

Todd laughed. "Will do."

Bones still looked doubtful "Are you sure you don't mind the extra work?

"No problem." Todd gathered up the pens Bones had used, tapped them into neat alignment. "I'll see you in San Francisco," he said. "And don't worry about canceling your train ticket. I'll take care of it."

Moments later Booth guided Bones out of the store, his hand at the small of her back, sunglasses firmly in place. The parking lot was busy, packed with morons who were too busy playing with their I-crap to watch out for pedestrians. He had to pull Bones out of the way of oncoming traffic twice before they finally made it to his rental car.

As he'd expected, she grinned when she saw it.

"'66 Mustang," she said, running her hand along the fender. She looked over at him, an impish sparkle in her eyes. "Gonna let me drive?"

He should've known she would remember. Bones remembered everything.

"No, I'm not going to let you drive," he said. "And this time you can't use Cullen to get your own way."

She huffed at him, but he could tell it was only half-hearted.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, as he pulled into traffic.

"Not for food," she said. "Besides the hotel has excellent room service."

He glanced over, caught the look in her eyes, and felt his body tighten in response. "Sounds like a plan," he said, reaching over to capture her hand with his. "Which way?"

They were quiet for most of the trip, but Bones never pulled her hand away, and the occasional brush of her thumb against the back of his wrist made him push down on the gas pedal a little harder. At the hotel Booth parked the car, collected his duffle bag, and followed her inside. She stood close to him on the elevator, her shoulder brushing against his arm even though they were alone. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she removed her necklace and dropped it into her bag, exchanging it for her keycard. Had he been younger and less concerned about propriety, he might've made a move on her then. As it was, the air between them vibrated with tension, and the short walk down the hall to her room felt like it took minutes instead of seconds.

He waited impatiently while she unlocked the door. Inside, he caught a brief glimpse of curtain-framed ocean before he heard the door swing shut and found himself pressed back against it, his hands and arms and thoughts filled with Bones, her soft contours and familiar scent distracting him completely from the view.

Her hands were everywhere, tugging at his shirt, sliding across his chest, running up his arms to curl around his neck. He kissed her, invading her mouth with his tongue and drawing a low, hungry groan from the back of her throat. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he locked her lower body against his and slid his other hand under her blouse. He searched out the front catch of her bra, flicked it open.

"You," she said, dragging her mouth free, "have very skillful hands."

"So ... do ... you," he gasped, his head falling back against the door and his breath hissing between his teeth as her hands found the catch of his jeans, released it, and pushed them down over his hips, following the fabric with lips, teeth and tongue.

"Shoes," he managed. In his hurry to toe them off he almost tripped over his jeans. She dragged her fingernails up the inside of his leg, stopping just short of his crotch to sketch a series of tantalizing circles against his skin.

"Problems?" she asked, her eyes glinting with humor.

He shook his head, kicked shoes and jeans aside, then dropped to his knees beside her.

"No." He pushed her blouse and bra out of his way and cupped her breasts in his hands. "No problems at all."

Bending his head, he kissed the top of one breast, then smiled at her sharp intake of breath.

"God," he said. "You are-" He captured a nipple between his teeth. Sucked gently. "-_So_ hot."

Her hips bucked, her nails digging into his back. He nipped again. "You like that?"

"Yes," she said. "More."

His hand dropped to the curve of her waist, slid past the flare of hip and thigh, and dipped under the hem of her skirt, dragging it up and out of his way. He traced a path back up, paused at the edge of her panties, then eased the tip of one finger across the thin cotton barrier that separated him from her heat.

She said his name on a whimper, the intensity of her need making his body ache for hers. Locking his arms around her waist, he pulled her down with him onto the rich, deep carpet, but in a flash of catlike grace her leg came up and across so that she was straddling him instead, her hands pressed flat against his chest. She shifted her hips back, forth, and then back again, her expression so unabashedly sensual that it made his mouth go dry and set his heart racing in his chest.

Her eyes met his. She wanted … Something. He didn't know what it was, but it didn't matter.

"Whatever you need," he said. He was hers. No questions. No doubts. "Anything you need, baby." He dragged her mouth down to his, kissed her hard, released her. "_Anything._"

Without answering she got to her feet, pulled off her panties, and tossed them aside. He caught a glimpse of pubic hair before she sank back down, and then she was straddling him again, her lower body hidden by the fabric of her skirt. Holding his gaze, she reached under the billowing cotton, freed his cock, and then he was sliding inside and-

Sweet _Jesus_ she was wet.

He grabbed her hips, thrusting deep despite his determination to let her set the pace. When she fell forward he lifted his head to capture her mouth, wrapping his arm around her waist, dragging her body tight and hard against his own. Holding her still, he drove his tongue deep into her mouth and felt the faint vibration of sound as she moaned again.

She pulled away, braced herself with her hands against his chest, and lifted up, waiting there for an endless moment before easing back down with a long, low hum of pleasure that had him all but begging for mercy. Watching her face, feeling what she was doing without being able to see it … He couldn't … Couldn't keep still.

He lifted to meet her. Fell away. Again. And again.

Without warning she reared back, face lifted toward the ceiling, eyes closed and back arched as she adjusted her angle. She was moving fast now, and he kept one hand at her waist, steadying her, lending her balance, and slid the other under the fabric of her skirt to seek out the sweet spot that made her body tremble against his. He circled it once. Twice. Three times. Her thigh muscles quivered. Tensed. And suddenly she was falling, helpless against the onslaught of her orgasm. Wrapping her within the protective circle of his arms, he held her close while the tremors rolled through her and then slowly subsided.

Minutes passed before she pushed herself up, but her hands lingered on his chest, and she gave him a rueful smile. "I'm not … patience isn't something I'm good at."

He smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Do you hear me complaining?"

She laughed, and the sound of it-carefree and utterly feminine-made his cock throb. Instantly her laughter died away, her expression turning predatory, seductive. Lowering her head, she pressed a row of tiny, nibbling kisses along his jaw. He shifted restlessly, felt himself pulse again, and bit his lip against the urge to thrust.

"How about we take this party to a bed?" he suggested.

She didn't argue, instead getting to her feet and offering him a hand up. As soon as he was vertical he pulled her in against him, her breasts flattening against his chest as he bent to kiss her. She pushed him away, laughing.

"Bed," she said, shaking an admonishing finger. "Remember?"

"Right." He shrugged out of his shirt, letting it drop to the floor. His boxers followed an instant later. But when he reached for her she danced away and scrambled onto the bed, where she perched on her knees while she took off her blouse and bra, dangling them in one hand for a moment before letting them drop to the floor. Wearing only her skirt, she propped her hands on her hips and gave him a challenging stare, head up, shoulders back, chest thrust forward-a queen, surveying her domain.

"See anything you like?" she asked, and then yelped as he tackled her, bringing her down to the soft mattress and making her gasp against his hungry mouth.

God, she tasted good. Her nimble lips knew exactly what to do with his, and her tongue and teeth drove him crazy. He tore his mouth away from hers and stared down at her, memorizing the look in her eyes, the dusky smile, the color that flooded her cheeks. Hot didn't even begin to cover this woman. She was fire.

He went in for more, determined to taste every inch of exposed skin, to tease every nerve ending until she begged for release. His lips slid over her neck, across her collar bone, down one arm, lingering on the sensitive flesh at the inside of her elbow and again at her wrist. Then back up and over to her other arm, repeating the process. Only when he had her squirming beneath him, her breath coming in fast, hungry little gasps, did he attend to her breasts, laving each one with his tongue, nipping at her with his teeth, making her shift and buck against him while she made those soft little keening sounds that drove him wild. She'd stopped laughing long ago, but her hands were busy, kneading his shoulders, running through his hair, tracing the edges of his ears and jaw. It was a race to see who would cave first, whose need would outstrip patience and demand satisfaction.

As if reading his mind she shifted underneath him, tugging at the fabric that had gotten trapped between their bodies, bunching it up and out of the way as she bent her knees, and suddenly he found himself poised at her entrance. He felt her hands on his hips, saw her open her eyes to lock on his.

"Now," she said. He was helpless to resist. He pushed forward and in, taking his time, savoring the advancing rush of heat and the welcoming pulse of her inner muscles. But when his eyes would have closed she stopped him, her hands tightening on his arms. "No," she said. "Look at me."

It was an intensely intimate moment. With his gaze locked on the brilliant clarity of hers he pulled out, then eased in again, lifting her hips so that he could push deeper, then holding there for a moment before drawing slowly back. In again, and out. Faster. Her hands still on his arms, his hips and hers finding a natural rhythm. And then he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, could only follow the instinct that drove him forward. Harder. Faster. Higher. Until he flew off the edge of the cliff, his body pushing into hers one last time as he found his release.

When it was over he collapsed beside her, chest heaving. "Fuck." It was language he didn't ordinarily use around her. It was also the only word he could manage.

She laughed softly. "Oh, yeah," she said. She sounded proud of herself.

With a quiet snort of amusement, he reached for her hand. Twined his fingers with hers.

"You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"

Her head snapped toward his, her eyes wide with alarm. "I hope not."

Laughing, he pulled her into his arms, felt her settle against him. "It's just a figure of speech, Bones. Don't panic."

She blew out a breath, smacked him lightly on the chest. "That was mean."

He trailed a finger down her side, lingering at the soft outer edge of her breast. "Was it?" he teased. "Was it really?"

He felt her exasperated sigh more than heard it, but since she also wrapped an arm around his waist and nestled in closer against his side he didn't take it personally. Instead he pressed a kiss against the top of her head, smiled, and closed his eyes.

When he woke up some time later the room was lit by the pale glow of the moon, and a glance at the clock told him it was well past midnight. Bones had rolled over, presenting him with the satin-smooth expanse of her back. He resisted the temptation to run his fingers down her spine and slipped out of bed instead. Moving as quietly as he could he located his underwear and pulled it on. Then he crossed to the window to stare down at the deeply shadowed beach.

His life should have been perfect in that moment. And it was, mostly. He had an amazing kid, a fantastic job, and the most incredible woman he'd ever known was sleeping just a few feet away. Even better, through some fluke of science or mystery of nature she was carrying his child, a child they'd agreed they would raise together. So yes, his life should have been perfect.

And yet …

He wanted more.

And that made him a greedy, selfish bastard, didn't it. He had so much. Why couldn't he be satisfied? Why couldn't it be enough?

He loved her. Dear _God_, did he love her.

But he couldn't tell her that. He didn't have the guts.

It had been so easy to say it to Hannah, but he was starting to understand that he'd given her the words without ever truly giving her his heart. Eight letters. Two spaces. A string of interconnected sounds without any real meaning. That's what he'd given her.

It would be different with Bones. With her it wouldn't be just letters, spaces, and sounds. With her it would be everything, the last piece of his heart handed to her on a silver platter. Those words were all he had left, and if he gave them to her, gave her that power, and she ran ...?

Even the thought of it, the possibility that it could happen, was enough to make his chest ache. He'd offered her thirty, forty, or fifty years, and not only had she turned it down, she'd run halfway across the world to get away from him. Now he wanted to promise her everything. Could he survive if she ran from that, too?

He looked over at her. Her skin was silvered by moonlight, her hair dark against the pillow. Would their child be a little boy with her love of science and his people skills? Or a little girl with his love of sports and her clear, penetrating gaze? He tried to picture his future family on a picnic in the park or grilling steaks in the backyard while a puppy played at their feet. But the image wavered, as if he were viewing it through rain-washed glass.

With a sigh he turned back toward the window, looking out at the beach without really seeing it. He knew what he wanted. He wanted a real family. A home. A shared bed and a shared history and stories he could tell his grandkids. But he still didn't know if that was what she wanted.

And if he'd learned anything, it was that the surest way to lose Bones was to hold on to her too tightly.

Maybe he shouldn't have brought up marriage that day at Union Station. He'd seen the hesitation in her eyes, had known exactly what it meant. But by then it had been too late, and his only defense had lain in rapid retreat and a determination not to bring the subject up again.

But he still wanted it.

Could he build a life with her without the foundation of marriage? Could he live with that compromise? He honestly didn't know.

There was a soft rustle of sound, and a second or two later her arms snaked around his waist.

"Hey," he said, folding his arms over hers. "Did I wake you?"

"No." He felt her shake her head against his back. "My stomach did."

"Hungry?"

"Very much so."

He freed one arm to arc up and over her shoulder, bringing her in against his chest and holding her close. She nestled into him, soft as a kitten, and he dropped a kiss against her hair.

"I could order something from room service," he offered.

"Mmm." She yawned widely and burrowed deeper into his shoulder, making him smile.

"What are you hungry for?"

"Omelette," she managed around another yawn. "Orange juice. Sausage …" His eyebrows rose. That was new. "Fresh strawberries."

They took turns showering while they waited for the food to arrive, then ate at a little table by the window. He stole one of her strawberries, narrowly avoiding a sharp poke from her fork, and she drank most of his orange juice. Afterwards she tossed him his shirt.

"Let's go for a walk," she said.

"Bones …" He glanced over at the clock, raised his eyebrows at her. "It's two a.m."

She blinked. "I don't see why that matters." With a sweep of her arm, she gestured toward their empty dishes. "I can't sleep, not after eating all that food, and we've already had sex."

Amused, he advanced on her. "We can do that again, if you'd like."

She took a step back and reached behind her to pick up the key card. She waved it at him, then tucked it into the pocket of the cargo shorts she'd pulled on after her shower. They were fastened, he noticed, with a large safety pin.

"Later," she said. "You should get some sleep. You've had a long day. I'll be fine alone."

"Bones, no. Wait. I'm coming." No way was he letting her go out by herself at this hour. No way in hell.

He grabbed a pair of shorts from his duffle and tugged them on, then shrugged into a t-shirt. Neither of them bothered with shoes.

Five minutes later they were splashing through the surf, making their way along the quiet, deserted beach. He reached for her hand, and she smiled over at him, lacing her fingers through his.

"Happy?" he asked, watching her.

She considered it for a moment. "Yes," she said. Her eyes met his. Held. "Yes, I am."

He squeezed her hand, and they walked on in companionable silence, stopping occasionally to point out the running lights of passing boats or look up at the few visible stars. Bones talked about tide pools and showed him how to tell if a sand dollar was alive or dead. He told her about the first time he'd taken Parker to the ocean and about the swimming holes Pops used to take him to as a kid. And later, as they started back toward the hotel with his arm wrapped around her waist and her head resting on his shoulder, they talked about the baby-about nursery colors (She lobbied for black and white. He wanted pastels. They compromised at primaries.), and names, and what they would do when she went back to work.

By the time they got back to the room they were both yawning. They brushed their teeth side by side at the sink. Then he went to untangle the sheets while she took her vitamin and brushed her hair. He was already in bed when she came out. She was naked, her stomach softly rounded with the baby she carried, and when she crawled into bed he drew her into his arms. He stroked her back, felt the light press of her lips against his shoulder …

And smiled as he closed his eyes.

*x*x*x*x*

Brennan woke to bright sunshine and Booth's arm flung across her stomach. The sheet had settled low on his hips, stimulating a familiar response low in her belly. She'd noticed a marked increase in her libido as her pregnancy progressed, and she wondered if that was strictly due to hormonal changes or if some of it might be due to the intensity of her feelings for Booth. In the past, her sexual interest had varied inversely with the duration of her relationships, but with Booth the opposite seemed to be true. It was a surprising, and thoroughly enjoyable, discovery.

She sketched an abstract figure-eight against his skin with her fingertips as her thoughts strayed to the baby. Angela's adamant insistence that Booth had a right to know about the fertility treatments and Todd's conviction that Booth would be angry if he found out had left her feeling more conflicted than ever. What if he was more than just angry? What if he responded the same way he'd responded to Hannah's rejection? Maybe she could have handled that if it had happened the night she told him about her pregnancy, but now ...?

She couldn't risk it, couldn't watch him walk away the way she'd once watched her parents walk away. Besides, she'd reached the conclusion that their child needed two parents.

Booth was the father of her child.

_That_ was the important thing, the only thing that mattered.

That had to be her priority.

A glance at the clock told her it was almost ten, which meant almost one for him. They hadn't gone to sleep until almost dawn, but Booth had had the foresight to put the do not disturb sign on the door, so she needn't worry about the housekeeping staff. They had five days together. Five days until she had to be in San Francisco for her next signing, and he had to catch a flight back to Washington. Right now they were alone. In bed. And they were naked. Surely she could find better ways to occupy her time than worrying about something that might never happen.

She let her hand drift lower, observing his body's autonomic response with interest. She stroked gently, almost tenderly, fascinated by the strength of her own physical reaction to the simple act of touching him. Already her body was preparing itself for sexual activity, her nerve endings becoming more sensitive, her vaginal tract growing warm and moist.

He'd started to respond to the slow strokes of her fingers, his corpora cavernosa beginning to fill with blood. Seeking better access and a clear view, she pushed up to sit beside him, crossing her legs and letting the sheet fall away from her body as she continued stroking.

It didn't take long for Booth's penis to acquire an admirable tumescence. She stroked down its length, then back up again, and smiled in satisfaction when she felt it pulse. Releasing it, she shifted down to explore his inner thighs with their coating of springy hair before gently cupping his scrotum and letting the weight of his testes settle against her palm.

The pressure of his hand on her knee startled her, and she looked up to find him watching her, his eyes hooded and dark.

"Good morning," he said.

"Afternoon for you," she pointed out, smiling. "Your internal clock is still on eastern time."

"Whatever," he waved that off, his gaze pointedly following her hand to where it still rested between his legs. "A guy could get used to waking up with a beautiful woman's hand on his junk."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "I find that colloquialism very distasteful," she said. "I prefer to use proper terminology."

When he raised his eyebrows at her, she demonstrated.

"Scrotum," she said, closing her hand gently around it. "Testes-" with the tip of her finger, she traced each one. "And penis." She circled his glans with her thumb and forefinger and nodded in satisfaction when his hips shifted restlessly. "Yours are quite impressive."

He snorted a laugh. "You have such a way with words, Bones."

"Thank you." Pleased by the compliment, she slid her hand to the base of his penis and squeezed lightly, aware that Booth found the sensation pleasurable.

"Jeez …" His hand tightened on her leg, and his eyes closed, confirming her theory. "Keep doing that, and you can call them Larry, Moe, and Curly if you want to."

"Why would I want to personify your genitalia?" she asked. She'd known other men who'd done that, and she'd always found the practice puzzling.

"Never mind Bones, just …" he grunted, his hips jerking in response to the measured pumping of her hand. "Just keep doing what you're doing."

She complied willingly, eager for another opportunity to experiment with various methods of direct penile stimulation in her continuing quest to determine which were most effective at bringing him to orgasm. She studied his reactions, making careful mental notes about those combinations of speed and pressure that seemed most pleasurable.

"Bones."

He only used that tone when he wanted to be certain she was paying attention.

She looked up. "What?"

"Stop thinking so hard," he said. "Just … Go with your gut."

She shook her head, but before she could argue he reached down and stilled her hand. Lifting it to his mouth, he sucked the tip of her middle finger between his teeth. At her gasp, he smiled.

"See?" he said quietly, releasing her. "Don't analyze. Just feel."

The instruction puzzled her. She wasn't sure she knew how to 'just feel.' Still, it seemed important to him, so she nodded doubtfully.

"I'll try," she said.

"That's all I ask." He relaxed back against the pillows, hands at his sides. "I'm all yours."

She felt uneasy when he said things like that, even though she knew he was being metaphorical. It made her feel accountable for his happiness and well-being to an extent she'd never before experienced. The responsibility of that weighed heavily on her, despite knowing they were having a child together-a child that would bind them to each other in very real, concrete ways for the rest of their lives.

Setting that issue aside, she looked down at him, considering. She'd never participated in sexual activities without the clear goal of mutual orgasm-and a corresponding strategy-so now she found herself at a loss.

"What's wrong?" he asked. He was watching her, eyebrows raised.

"I …" She hesitated, biting her lip. "I don't know what to do."

She half expected him to laugh. After all, she was an experienced, sexually active adult. But he didn't laugh. Instead he looked … dismayed? Distressed? But that couldn't be right. She must be misreading him.

He reached for her hand. "You don't haveto _do_ anything, Bones."

A generous suggestion, considering the size of his erection.

"You don't understand." She tried to explain. "It isn't that I don't want to," she said. She hadn't felt this uncertain since that first time with Michael, and even with him she'd proceeded with clear intent. "It's that I've never-" She cast about, searching for a way to explain. "-I've never flown by the hem of my pants before."

She thought she saw a hint of amusement in his eyes, but it was subdued. "Seat, Bones. It's seat of your pants." Serious again, he took her hand in his. "And I'm sorry to hear that. Everybody should try it at least once."

"But I don't …" She floundered, oddly embarrassed. "I don't know where to start."

He did smile then, but softly, the way she sometimes caught him looking at Parker when he thought no one was watching. "Here," he said. Unfolding her fingers, he pressed her hand flat against his chest. "Why don't you start here. And remember. Think with this." He reached up, tapped the center of her chest. "Not this." Another tap, this time at her temple.

She lowered her gaze to where her hand rested against his chest. She could touch him, wherever and however she wanted, without any definitive goal in mind. It was an intriguing prospect. She let her hand slide over him, closing her eyes to focus on the shifting textures beneath her palm-the hard ridge of bone, the firmness of muscle, the vulnerability of his abdomen. She circled again, widening her sweep, fitting her hand to his side, the shape of his clavicle, and the curve of his chest before returning to his stomach and smoothing a leisurely path up the center of his torso, then settling again just over his heart. She felt its beat, strong and steady, and opened her eyes to find him watching her.

With the tip of one finger she traced the circular scar on the right side of his chest.

"I still remember when you got this," she said. "I thought …" The memory still had a surprising ability to upset her. "I thought I'd lost you."

They'd only been friends then. Good friends, yes. But still ...

His fingers closed over hers. "I'm okay, Bones."

She blinked back unexpected tears. Damned hormones.

"I'm okay, and I'm here ..." He squeezed her hand. "And I'm not going anywhere." He pulled her head down to his and kissed her, his lips moving gently over hers. Chest aching, she swallowed hard. Straightened.

"I'm being ridiculous," she said. "I know."

"No." He shook his head. "You aren't. Remember Kenton?"

Dogs. She remembered the dogs.

"That was my fault," he said softly. "I trusted him to keep you safe, and he tried to kill you."

"It wasn't your fault. You didn't know …"

He shook his head. "The point is I almost lost you then, so I understand how you feel." He reached up, bracketed her face with his hands. "I do," he said. Then, more slowly, his eyes holding hers. "I really, _really_ do."

She didn't know how to respond, how to put words to what she was feeling. It was all too much, too intense, too overwhelming. Was this _really_ what love was? This all-encompassing … _thing_? But it was such a small word. Four letters. A trio of phonemes. A single syllable. How could something so simple even begin to convey something so … So big.

In the end she didn't say anything at all. Instead she kissed him. She kissed him for a very long time. She kissed him until her knees started to ache and she had to stretch out beside him. His arms came around her and he kissed her back. She felt his fingers in her hair, holding it back from her face, and she felt the roughness of his legs against hers and the pressure of his chest against her breasts, and the throb of his erection against her stomach. She kissed him until it wasn't enough anymore and she had to fill her hands and her arms and her body with his strength.

She caught his hand, lifted it to her breast, and murmured her approval against his mouth when he gave it a gentle squeeze. Arching into his touch, she traced back up his arm, over his shoulder, and on up to his face, feeling the sandpaper prick of his beard against her palm before sliding back down his arm and tangling her fingers with his once more. He lifted their joined hands, pushed, and she rolled to her back without arguing, still kissing him, still touching, hunger and need outpacing cogent thought.

When his mouth left hers she murmured a protest, then murmured his name when he nuzzled her neck, and murmured it again when he kept going, past her neck and her clavicle to the top of her breast and beyond. His lips trailed moist fire in their wake, making her shiver, each point of contact setting more nerve endings alight. She felt the heat of his mouth as he circled her left breast, painting a spiral that ended at her nipple and made her gasp. Electricity shot through her, and no amount of science could keep her from imagining a direct link between her nipple and her clitoris. He shifted to her right breast, still holding the left, one thumb brushing over the nipple again and again while he painted another spiral, drew another gasp.

She felt helpless. Out of control. Heavy with want and close, too close, to an orgasm.

She tugged at his shoulders, his name little more than a whisper, but he took his time, working his way back up to her neck and dipping his tongue into the hollow at its base, freeing another moan as she pushed her head back into the pillows and bared the vulnerable arch of her neck to his mouth. She wanted to give. Needed him to feel as simultaneously languorous and restless as she did, needed to make him shift and groan and beg the same way she was shifting and groaning and begging.

She pushed at him, and he rolled to his back. His arms came around her again as she leaned over him. He said her name, and the sound of it, low and guttural, sent another shock wave through her system. She lifted her head for his kiss, and he met her in a frantic dance of lips, teeth, and tongues. She pulled away seconds later and dragged her lips down, retracing the path her hands had followed earlier, circling his torso twice, soothing his scars with the tip of her tongue, nipping gently at his nipples until they hardened against her lips.

Moving on, she trailed her lips over the center-line of his body. Down the middle of his chest. Between his ribs, across his stomach. A brief pause at his navel, a dip and swirl of her tongue, and her reward-the tensing of muscles, the sudden sharp jerk of his hips, the sound of his gasp. Onward then, until she finally reached his penis. No. Cock. Her body warmed at the self-correction, an unexpected reaction that she would think about later. Not now. She wasn't supposed to think right now.

She licked her way up his cock to its tip, holding it firmly at the base. Reaching up, she laced her fingers through his and felt his free hand against the top of her head, alternately stroking and tensing. She took as much of him into her mouth as she could, then licked her way back up, letting her teeth graze the head and smiling to herself when he bucked and groaned.

"Jesus …"

She did it again, swirling her tongue over the sensitive skin as she fellated him, employing everything she'd ever learned about male stimulation-the proper application of lips, tongue, teeth, and hands-to drive him higher. Her teeth flickered over his skin and her hand massaged the base of his penis, sliding now and then to his testes. No. That wasn't right. To his balls, before gliding back up.

"Bones …" He ground out her name, and she knew he was fighting for control. "Come up here, baby." She felt his hands on her shoulders, felt him pull, and let him slide free of her mouth as she crawled back up his body, licking and tasting at his skin, all heat and fire and hunger. He pushed her to her back

"My turn," he said, his mouth hovering over hers. He nipped at her bottom lip, but smiled and shook his head when she tried for more. "Relax." Another nip. "_Feel._"

As she had done earlier, he took one of her hands in his, intertwining their fingers as he moved down her body.

He was gentle with her. Tender. And there was something about the way he touched her that felt … somehow … more. It was something she only ever experienced with him. Something she didn't understand. She couldn't explain the difference, couldn't define it, her vocabulary woefully inadequate to the task.

A sudden sharp nip of his teeth shocked her into a gasp, her eyes widening as she met his gaze. He smiled an apology, laved the slight injury with his tongue, then shook his head at her.

"You're thinking again," he said softly.

Abashed, she laid her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry." She gave an apologetic shrug. "I'm trying, but …"

"Mm." He looked skeptical. And amused. "Let's see if I can help you out with that."

He lowered his head again, and she hissed out a breath, unable to control the thrust of her hips when he sucked her nipple into his mouth and flicked his tongue over it, his eyes on her face. Apparently satisfied with her reaction he let her go and turned his attention to the rest of her body.

It felt like his mouth was everywhere at once, and she squeezed his hand, her heart racing as he worked his way down her body. When his tongue found her clit it was all she could do not to scream. She writhed on the bed, shoulders and hips and legs moving as she tried to get closer. He licked again, just the tip of his tongue. Hard. Fast. And she whimpered. Every muscle in her body quivered and strained. He licked again, then dipped his tongue into her vaginal canal. Desperate for more, she bucked up. But he pulled away. Frustrated, desperate, she fought for control, her voice coming out on a thin whine.

"Please," she begged. "More."

His answer came in a series of long, hot sweeps of his tongue, then a flicker of its tip, and finally, a slow, tantalizing thrust into her vaginal canal. She had to stop him. She was too close to the edge. Too high. And while she very much enjoyed achieving orgasm through oral sex, she didn't want that now.

She pushed up on her elbows.

"Booth …" He lifted his head. Their eyes met. "Make love with me."

Make love. Her word choice was deliberate. Despite their active sex life she'd never before made this particular request, and she knew by the deepening intensity of his gaze and the way his fingers tightened around hers that he'd noticed the change. She waited apprehensively for his reaction, her pulse racing with nerves as much as arousal until slowly, without breaking eye contact, he nodded.

He worked his way back up her body with frustratingly methodical care, planting heated kisses along the way, making her squirm and pull at his shoulders in impatience. And then, finally, he was there, his lips finding hers, brushing over them once. Twice. He kissed the corner of her mouth as she slid her hands up his arms, across his shoulders, and around to the back of his neck, bringing his head down to hers for a longer, deeper kiss as she tucked her feet behind his knees.

She felt him brush against her and shifted her hips, sighing when he settled into position. She loved this part, with the head of his cock just beginning to ease past her entrance. In, but not really. Out, but not quite. He lifted his head, breaking the kiss, and she fought the urge to end the agonizingly delicious anticipation with a quick, hard thrust of her hips.

With her hands at his waist she lifted toward him and felt him slide in. Slow. Easy. Deep.

"Feel," he whispered, his mouth at her ear as the weight of his body settled onto her, pushing her into the mattress. "Just-" He drew back. Eased in again. "-feel."

She welcomed Booth's weight, knowing that on a word from her he would draw back and set her free. Booth would never hurt her, would never ask more of her than she was willing to give. And she loved him. So much that she ached with it.

She brought his head down to hers, kissed him deeply, taking her time, and felt his hips begin to move in tandem with her tongue. Slow. So ... Very … Slow. The effect was intensely sensual. His lips eased away from hers, and she felt them graze her jawline as he lowered his mouth to her ear without stopping the leisurely movements of his hips.

"This is how you make love, Bones." His voice was low, gravelly with emotion and arousal. "But it isn't just this." She heard his breath hitch in his throat. "Every time I touch you." Supporting his weight on one arm, he brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek, down the side of her neck, and out across her shoulder before returning his hand to the mattress. "Every time I kiss you." He pressed his lips to her temple. So tender. So gentle. "It's all making love, Bones. Every bit of it." He smiled faintly. "The truth is, when it comes to you, I don't know how _not_ to make love."

He made it sound so simple. So clear. But nothing she was feeling was either simple or clear, so she settled for nodding as she met his long, smooth strokes, an effort that became increasingly difficult as her muscles coiled in on themselves and all she could focus on was how good he felt and how much she loved watching his face when they did this. He was getting close. It was there in the trembling of his arms and in his heavy-lidded gaze. She felt herself respond. Struggled to listen to what he was saying.

"Do you remember what I said to you?" he asked. His cock throbbed deep inside her body. She mourned its loss as he pulled back. "About two people becoming one?"

She remembered. She'd argued that it wasn't possible. Without warning, his hips snapped forward, hard, and she gasped.

"I'm going to show you." He was fighting for control. So was she. "I'm going to prove it can happen."

She managed another nod. She wanted him to be right, wanted to be that close to him.

"Prove it," she challenged, her voice little more than a whisper as she arched her back and pushed up to meet him on the next stroke. "Show me."

He paused. Dropped his head. Kissed her once. Hard. Then he lifted his head and drew back and suddenly she didn't want him to go slow anymore, didn't want his caution or patience or whatever the hell he called what he was doing.

"Faster," she urged, her voice breaking. "Please, Booth." She matched action to words, no longer trying to control the movements of her own body. "Please." She said again. "Fast."

He did as she asked, his hips thrusting harder against hers as he increased his pace. "Still," he gasped. "Making ..." He drove in. Hard. Deep. "... Love."

She wanted to laugh. Couldn't. Instead she reached down, wrapped her fingers tightly around the base of his cock Squeezed. And watched his expression change as he grunted softly.

"Again."

She did. And felt him throb deep inside her. He pushed her hand out of the way and used his own thumb to rub tight, hard circles against her clit as he continued to thrust against her. She couldn't … couldn't catch her breath. Couldn't think. Could only …

Feel.

This was it. This was what he'd meant. What he'd been trying to tell her all along. She dragged her fingernails across his skin. Whimpered. They were almost there, breath heaving. Hearts racing. Their bodies ...

_Feel_.

She was dimly aware of his voice, of his body. She knew instinctively what to do, how to move to drive him-them-higher. She didn't have to think. Not with him.

"That's it, baby." His voice sounded strangled. "That's it." The words were rough. Broken. Their pitch climbing with the approach of his orgasm. "Come with me."

She drew back when he pulled out, rose to meet him when he slammed back down. And still it wasn't enough. Still she wanted more. He kissed her without slowing down, more teeth and tongue than lips. No softness. Only heat. She didn't know where he found the self-control to join his mouth to hers. Didn't care. Then his body went rigid as he reared back. She felt the first gush of his semen against her cervix, heard him groan.

And followed him over the edge.


	4. Chapter 4

Angela pushed aside two rattles, a baby blanket, and a teddy bear before dropping onto the couch. She'd just put Michael down for a nap, and she was thinking she could use one, too. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to sleep for eight hours straight. These days she would be grateful for four. She couldn't sleep now, though. Cam had mentioned that they were having trouble with a facial reconstruction at the lab, and like an idiot Angela had jumped at the chance to do something more interesting than clean up baby drool or change diapers. She'd promised Cam a rough sketch by the end of the day, but Michael had been so cranky all morning that she hadn't even started on it. Now, with the baby asleep and Hodgins out running errands, she should be leaping at the chance to draw. Instead all she wanted to do was sleep.

She forced herself up and into the kitchen, looking for something to drink. She wanted caffeine, but that was out. She wasn't about to give the kid another reason to keep her up all night. She settled on filtered water with a squirt of lemon and was giving the coffeepot a last longing look when the telephone rang. She glanced at the caller ID and breathed a sigh of relief as she picked up the handset.

"Thank God," she said by way of greeting. "Somebody who isn't going to cry, drool, or spit up on me."

There was a brief, puzzled silence followed by a hesitant, "Angela?"

"Yeah, sweetie. It's me."

"Are you okay?"

"Oh, God. You do not want to know the answer to that." Angela smiled tiredly. "Besides, I want to hear about you." She settled on the couch, water in hand, and put her feet up. "Tell me all the juicy details about your visit with Booth."

"You knew he was here?" The surprise in Bren's voice made Angela smile.

"Oh, you know how these things go. Booth told Cam, Cam mentioned it to Jack, and Jack told me."

Brennan's response was thoughtful. "No, I didn't know that."

She sounded so serious, as if this were vitally important information that somebody had been keeping from her, and Angela grinned. "Gossip. It's what's for dinner."

"I don't understand."

"Don't worry about it." She took a long sip of icy water, let it slide down her throat. "Now stop stalling. I want details."

When Brennan spoke again she sounded …utterly happy.

"It was …" Angela heard her take a breath. "It was wonderful, Angela."

Angela squealed, bit her lip, and cast an apprehensive glance at the baby monitor. "Oh, Bren." She couldn't stop smiling. "I'm so happy for you."

"Thank you."

Angela waited for more, and when nothing seemed forthcoming she squirmed impatiently. "Brennan. Sweetie. Don't leave me hanging."

"What are you hanging from?"

The note of amusement in Brennan's voice gave her away. Angela blew out an exasperated sigh. "You, apparently. Now come on. Stop busting my chops and tell me about Booth."

"You want to know about Booth."

"Yes, I want to know about Booth!"

"But you already know Booth."

"Brennan-" Angela was exasperated, but thrilled as well. Brennan didn't often relax enough to joke and tease like this. Her little interlude with Booth must have been spectacular. "Don't make me come over there and-"

"You'd come all the way to Seattle? That's a long flight, Ange, and my train leaves tomorrow afternoon. Are you sure you'll be able to get here on time?" Brennan's voice bubbled with laughter. "Maybe you should meet me in Minneapolis, instead. You can bring Michael with you."

"No. I am not flying to Minneapolis. And no. I am not bringing Michael." Angela was sorely tempted to stomp her foot. "Now stop messing with me and tell me about your sexcapades!"

"Sexcapades?" Brennan was giggling openly now. "Is that what you're calling it these days?"

"Brennan …"

"Okay, okay!" Brennan cleared her throat, and when she spoke again, she sounded calmer, less uncharacteristically giddy. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything! Where did you go? What did you do?"

"We just … drove from Los Angeles to San Francisco."

"Really," Angela said skeptically. "That's all you did. Just drove to San Francisco."

Angela could almost see Brennan biting her lip, her eyes sparkling with glee. "The drive along the coast is quite beautiful," Bren said at last. "And we stayed in some very nice inns along the way."

"So. Sex. Sex. And more sex."

"Yes. We did engage in coitus quite frequently." Brennan was trying to sound cool, but her voice positively hummed with feminine satisfaction. "Increased arousal is a natural response to the hormonal surges that occur during pregnancy, Angela. I'm sure you had a similar experience when you were pregnant with Michael."

Oh, yeah. Snorting out a laugh, Angela shook her head. "Tell the truth, Bren. The man makes you hot."

There was a pause. Then, "His proximity does seem to cause a noticeable increase in my body temperature."

Angela hooted. "Is that what you scientist types call it?" She parroted Brennan's words back to her. "A noticeable increase in body temperature?"

"Well?" Brennan sounded vaguely irritated, but Angela wasn't buying it for an instant. "It's true."

"I know, sweetie. I'm sorry. I shouldn't tease." Still grinning, Angela changed the subject. "How's the tour going?"

"Quite well, actually. The response to the new book has been very positive."

"Well that's good." Angela settled back, propping the phone between her shoulder and ear as she tilted her head against the cushions. "Got any fun stories for me?"

"Not really. It's all pretty routine."

Bren's hotel must have been close to the station, because Angela heard a train whistle in the background. She made a mental note to get Hodgins on a train. Soon. Sex in one of those sleeper cars would be hot as hell.

"Routine. Really." Angela forced her mind out of the gutter and back to the subject at hand. "If private sleeper cars, mobs of adoring fans, and a five-day interlude with the second sexiest guy on the planet is routine ..." She shook her head. "I want to know what you would call exciting."

"Second sexiest?"

Angela could swear she heard Brennan's eyebrows shoot all the way up to her hairline.

She grinned unrepentantly. "Absolutely."

"Booth is taller than Hodgins. And his shoulders are much broader."

"You don't measure sexy with a yard stick," Angela shot back, without missing a beat.

"I disagree," Brennan argued, using that ultra-reasonable tone that always made Angela want to bang her head against the wall. "Male attributes-"

Angela cut her off. "Tell me about your fans, Bren. Any weirdos in the bunch this time?"

"If there are, they haven't shown themselves, yet."

Ange heard a faint ripping noise, as if Bren were opening an envelope. That was strange. Who got mail in a one night hotel stay?

"Although-" Something about the way Bren said it made Angela sit up, alert. There was another rattle of paper. A crumpling noise. "Never mind."

Nevermind? No way. Not going to happen. "Although what, Bren?"

"It's nothing."

Angela knew that tone of voice. Something was definitely going on.

"Hank Beldon," she said, ticking the names off on the fingers of one hand. "Ashton Keller. Greg Braley." Maybe they hadn't been after Bren. Maybe they'd only been using her books for their own nefarious ends. They were still average guys who turned out to be creepy as hell.

"That was years ago." Brennan sounded annoyed. "And Booth's been monitoring chat rooms ever since it happened. If he'd seen anything suspicious he would have told me."

"My point," Angela said, trying for patience, "is that those guys all seemed pretty normal, too."

"You're being alarmist, Angela."

"Right. Well humor me, okay? Chalk it up to my being a paranoid new mom or something." She took a breath. "Now what about that 'although'?"

Brennan's sigh carried clearly over the phone line, but Angela ignored it. She was in no mood to be toyed with. "Bren …"

"You really are quite paranoid."

"Maybe." And maybe Brennan wasn't paranoid enough.

"It's just …"

"Just?" Angela prompted.

"Well, there's this man."

Angela felt her pulse kick up a beat. Damn it. "And?"

"He's been at every event."

"Every event? Atlanta, New Orleans, Houston, Tucson ..?"

"Yes. As well as L.A., San Francisco, and Portland."

"Is he riding the train with you?"

"I haven't seen him."

Which meant exactly nothing.

Truly worried, Angela reached for a notepad and pencil. "Did Booth notice him?"

"He didn't say anything."

"And you didn't tell him."

"Of course not. You know how Booth is."

Yeah, she did. If Brennan had mentioned this guy to Booth he probably would've demanded she cancel the tour, Brennan would have argued with him, and it would've blown up into this big, nasty … thing. Angela sighed.

"What does he look like?"

"One hundred and eighty centimeters," Brennan said, dropping neatly into clinical mode. "Approximately eighty-five kilograms. Short brown hair. Green eyes. No visible tattoos or scars. Neatly dressed but not especially wealthy. Clean shaven."

Angela scribbled it all down on the notepad. "Age?"

"Mid fifties."

"I don't suppose you know his name."

"Chuck. He never gives his last name."

"Okay. Is there anything else you can tell me about him? Anything at all?"

"We don't strike up conversations, Angela. He shows up, listens, gets his autograph, and leaves."

"When?"

"When what?"

"When does he leave? Right after you sign his book? Or does he hang around for a while?

"I have no idea. I'm usually busy."

Angela slapped her pen down on the notepad and sat back. "I'm telling Booth."

"No! Angela, you can't. It'll only upset him."

"This guy's been following you, sweetie. Doesn't that seem the least bit weird to you? "

"He's probably collecting signatures to sell on Ebay or something."

"Maybe, but what if he's not? What if he's stalking you?"

Brennan's sigh of exasperation came through loud and clear. "He isn't a stalker. And Todd's with me at every signing. It isn't as if I'm on my own."

Angela shook her head but said nothing.

"Please don't tell Booth, Angela."

"More secrets, Bren? Really?" Angela didn't like it. She didn't like it at all. "You have got to start trusting him."

"I do trust him," Brennan shot back. "I trust that he'll overreact."

She was right. That was the hell of it. Booth was so damned head-over-heels in love with her that he couldn't see straight. He'd probably go ballistic if he so much as suspected Bren might be in trouble. Damn it all, anyway.

"Brennan …"

"I'll be all right, Angela."

"Promise you'll tell Booth if the guy does anything weird?"

"I promise. Just … let me handle it, okay?"

"I guess." But she didn't like it. She didn't like it one bit.

They talked for a few more minutes before the signal dropped and Angela was left holding a dead line. She got up to put the handset away, thinking.

She'd promised not to mention this Chuck guy to Booth, and she wouldn't.

But she hadn't said anything about Hodgins.

*x*x*x*x*

Booth closed the door behind him, threw the lock, and dropped his keys on the end table. Carrying a stack of mail in one hand and a trio of packages in the other, he crossed to the bar, adding the collection to the growing pile. It was going to take Bones a week to sort through it all when she got back. With a shake of his head he moved around the counter, picked up her watering can, and turned on the tap. While he waited for it to fill he looked around the quiet apartment.

He always missed her the most when he was here, where memories of her lingered in every corner. She was there in the kitchen with him, her hip bumping against his while they cooked. And she was in the dining room, her eyes sparkling with laughter as she raised her glass in yet another toast. She was in the living room, too, lying on the couch with her head in his lap, reading one of her journals while he watched a ball game. He'd stroke her arm or the curve of her hip and smile when she hummed a quiet approval.

Even the bathrooms reminded him of her. The dried flowers she kept in little bowls on the backs of the toilets were the same ones she used in her underwear drawer. He couldn't walk into the bathroom without getting a sudden, vivid image of Bones, wearing nothing but bra, panties, and a mischievous grin.

And the bedroom. God, the bedroom. He hated going in there. He couldn't even look at the bed without getting a hard-on. She was, hands down, the most generous and uninhibited lover he'd ever had. But it wasn't just the sex that made him get the hell out of there as fast as he could. It was the thought of how she felt curled in his arms, the sleepy droop of her eyes when she first woke up in the morning, the way sometimes when he couldn't sleep he'd just lie next to her and watch her until his own eyes finally drifted closed. Those were the times when it hit him the hardest, when he thought about just how much he loved her and how amazing it was that they were finally making this thing happen.

He wanted her to come home, wanted her in his arms again. Soon.

Cold water spilled over his hand, startling him out of his thoughts. He glanced down, shook his head, and turned off the faucet. Keep your head in the game, he thought. Get the job done and get out before you lose what's left of your mind.

After he finished watering the plants he put the can away and took a last look around, ignoring the ring of the telephone. The answering machine would take the call, and Bones was checking her messages remotely. Whoever it was, she would handle it herself.

The machine came on, and he listened as Bones asked the caller to leave a message, her tone cool and professional. And how much of a sap was he, he wondered, that his heart warmed at the sound of her recorded voice?

"This is Fairfax," a pleasant female voice responded. "We've been informed of your success and would like to speak with you regarding the final disposition of your account. We've attempted to contact you by mail, but haven't received a reply. Please call us at 703-555-9538 at your earliest convenience."

There was another click, an instant of dial tone, and then silence.

Booth stared at the blinking red light.

Account. That usually meant a bank, but Bones did all of her banking at the Jeffersonian's Credit Union right here in D.C. She'd once told him that she liked the convenience, since she spent so much time at work anyway.

So what kind of account did she have in Fairfax?

...

Wait.

…

There was one account. With growing unease, he dug through the mail on the bar. He'd seen it. He knew he had. It had come in a few days after she'd left. Envelopes slid across the counter. A flyer landed on the floor, and he managed to snag the electric bill just before before it fell in the sink. He finally found what he'd been looking for and pulled it from its place near the bottom of the stack. He held it in his hand. Stared at the return address. And felt his gut twist.

Fairfax Cryobank.

He took a breath. It could be nothing. It could be as simple as her having decided that she no longer needed to keep his donation.

We've been informed of your success.

What the hell kind of message was that?

He returned the envelope to the top of the pile, unopened. He would wait. He would wait and ask Bones about it. She would explain. He was getting all wound up over nothing. It was just a stupid message on her answering machine. Probably didn't mean anything.

He flipped off the kitchen light, crossed to the front door, and picked up his keys.

He was outside, key in the lock, when he hesitated.

What if it wasn't nothing? What if it was something?

Would she have used his sperm sample without telling him? Most people would know that that would be a fucked-up thing to do, but Bones wasn't most people. She didn't view the world through the same lens. She was logical. Rational. Pragmatic.

And she wanted a baby.

Slowly, heart beating hard in his chest, he withdrew the key and dropped it in his pocket. He didn't want to think this about her, didn't want to believe that she might betray his trust. But he couldn't keep his hand from turning the knob, from pushing the door back open. Couldn't keep himself from crossing the apartment and reaching for the plain white envelope with the pale-blue logo.

He weighed it in his hand, studied the name and address, ran the pad of his thumb over the strong black type. Slowly, methodically, he tore a thin strip from one end and drew out the single sheet of folded paper. He straightened it out. Smoothed it flat against the counter. Skimmed it.

And paused.

No.

No, that couldn't be right. There had to be some mistake.

He read it again, more carefully.

It was true.

She'd made not one withdrawal, but three, the last just two days before Vincent's murder.

Three withdrawals. Three times she'd tried to get pregnant using his sperm, but without his knowledge.

Three. Fucking. Times.

Fury tightened his jaw. With slow deliberation he removed his cell phone from his pocket, keyed in a number, and waited for the line to be answered, breathing slowly, forcing some semblance of calm.

"Dr. Peterson's office." The cheerful voice made him grit his teeth. "This is Marcia. May I help you?"

"Yes." He was relieved that his voice sounded almost normal. "I need some information about a patient of yours."

"I'm sorry, sir. All patient information is confidential."

"I'm an FBI agent." He had surprisingly few qualms about using his authority this way, despite knowing it could cost him his job. "The name's Seeley Booth." He gave her his badge number.

"One moment please."

She put him on hold. He gritted his teeth and listened to canned music while he waited for her to return.

"I'm sorry, but we can't release any information over the phone." He heard her whisper an aside to somebody else. "If you'll come to the office, we'll be happy to help you in any way we can." Another whispered conversation. Then, "I assume you have a warrant?"

He sighed. He'd been afraid that they would ask him that. "Not yet," he said. "I was hoping to get some additional information first." He struggled to control his voice, to sound gracious and apologetic. "Thank you for your help," he said. "I'll be in touch."

He ended the call, cursed, and picked up the statement again. He hadn't really expected the doctor's office to answer his questions. In fact, he would have been pissed if they had breached confidentiality without a warrant, but it would've made things a hell of a lot easier.

He stood for a few moments, pondering his options. There was still a slight chance that he was wrong, though he really had no idea how. The statement was pretty clear. Still, he didn't want to confront Bones with what he'd learned until he had more information. Making an abrupt decision, he folded the statement and tucked it into his pocket, then left the apartment, making sure to lock the door behind him.

There was still one person who might be able to clear this up. One person who might know the truth.

*x*x*x*x*

It felt a little strange to be back in her office, even if it was only for half a day. She knew Michael was fine at home with Jack, and that she'd left plenty of breast milk in the fridge. But she was way more conflicted than she'd thought she would be. She had thought … Well, hell. She didn't know what she'd thought, really. But she hadn't expected to feel so damned torn.

She wandered around the room, letting her hands brush over her equipment, saying hello to old friends. She'd missed this place. There was no denying that. Despite her initial reluctance, she'd come to love her work. She was doing something important here, something vital, and who could argue with that?

A sound at her office door brought her head around. She broke into a wide smile when she saw who it was.

"Well hello there, stranger." She crossed to meet him. "Long time no see."

"Hey, Angela." Booth watched her from the doorway. He was leaning against the jamb, arms folded, and Angela felt a frisson of unease crawl up her spine. Something was wrong.

"Hodgins told me you were here," he said. "Welcome back."

Half a step this side of a monotone. Oh, yeah. Something was definitely wrong.

"Is everything okay?" she asked.

Booth shook his head. "Do you have a minute?" he asked. "I need to talk to you."

"Sure. Come on in." She waved him inside, tension mounting when he paused to close the door. "What's going on?"

He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Do you know anything about this?"

Angela unfolded the paper, scanned it, and swallowed a curse. She'd warned Bren, hadn't she? Told her what might happen? Gathering her scattered thoughts, she looked up.

"Where did you get this?"

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter," he said.

"It's addressed to Brennan." All at once she was pissed-with Bren for putting her in this position, with Booth for coming to her with it instead of going straight to Brennan, and with herself for getting tangled up in what was undoubtedly going to be a massive, and very ugly, cluster-fuck.

"I've been taking care of her mail while she's on tour," he said shortly.

Angela folded her arms. "And taking care of it means reading it? Who knew?" Needing space, she backed away, dropped down on her rolling stool.

"No!" He pushed a hand through his hair. Lowered his voice. "No. I stopped by her apartment on my way to work this morning and just happened to be there when a call came in from the cryobank. I heard the message and …" He gestured at the statement she still held. "The rest is history."

He paced away, hands in his pockets, and stopped with his back to her. Blew out a sigh.

"Look," he said. "I know you don't want to get caught in the middle of a fight. I just …" He shook his head. "I just need to know if it's true." He turned then, and she wanted to cry for both of them when she saw the heartache in his eyes. "Is it?"

Clearly he was holding it together by the thinnest of threads. It would be cruel not to answer him. Still, Brennan had entrusted her with this, and Angela had no intention of betraying that confidence. She bit her lip, thinking hard. Finally, she held out the statement. She couldn't do it. She just couldn't.

"I think you should talk to Brennan," she said, and got a flash of frustrated disappointment in reply.

"Angela-"

"No." She shook her head. "It isn't my place," she said quietly. "I'm sorry."

He studied her for a long moment. "It's true," he said, his voice so low as to be almost inaudible. "How long have you known?"

He sounded so … broken.

"A few weeks." There was no point in denying it. Booth would see right through a lie, and it would only make things worse. "She thought-" She paused, wondering again how much she should tell him. "I guess she just needed someone to talk to, someone she thought would understand."

"She didn't think I would understand?" He stared at her. "Jesus, Angela. We're talking about my kid here!"

And that was just it, wasn't it. He didn't understand. It was there in the way his jaw flexed as he stared at her, the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides. And it was there in his voice, too, in the underpinnings of anger and betrayal that made her take an instinctive step back. He couldn't see past what Bren had done to understand why she'd done it. She took a step toward him, but he snapped his hand up, stopping her. Without another word, he snatched the statement out of her hand and started toward the door.

"Booth-"

But he was already out. She hurried after him. "Booth!"

Nothing. She watched him walk away, those long legs of his carrying him out of earshot before she could think of a way to make him stop and listen.

"Damn it!"

She turned to go back into her office and noticed her boss standing a few feet away, a puzzled look on her face.

Cam folded her arms across her chest. "What was that all about?"

Angela looked back the way Booth had gone. Bit her lip.

"Armageddon," she said quietly.

She went back into her office, closed the door, and dropped down onto her stool, twisting around so she could rest her elbows on her workstation. Then she dropped her chin into her hands and shook her head. Oh, Brennan. I am so, so sorry.

She remembered the day Brennan had told her she was pregnant. They'd been at her house a couple of weeks after she'd gotten home from the hospital. Angela had known Bren had something on her mind, but had waited until Michael was fed, burped, and handed over to Jack before asking any questions.

As it turned out she didn't have to ask anything. Bren just blurted it out, the way some people said they were hungry or tired.

"I'm pregnant."

At first, Angela thought she'd heard it wrong.

"Say that again?"

"I'm pregnant."

Stunned, Angela stared at her best friend. "This is exhaustion, right? I'm hallucinating? Because I could've sworn you just said you were pregnant."

"I did." Brennan gave her a strange look. "Twice."

"Whoa." Angela sat down heavily. "You two don't waste any time, do you."

She knew they'd started dating. But a baby? Already?

Damn they were good.

Brennan perched on a chair across from her. She was … There was no other way to put it. She was glowing. And as far as Angela was concerned anything that put that look on her best friend's face had to be good.

"You're happy about this," she said slowly.

Brennan nodded. "Very much so."

"Does Booth know?"

Another nod. "I told him the night Michael was born."

"How did he take it?"

Angela watched the soft smile spread across Brennan's face and into her eyes. "He's happy, too," she said. "We're talking about moving in together."

"Jesus," Angela said, trying to wrap her head around it. Five years of cow eyes. A year of angst. And suddenly she was pregnant and they were moving in together? What the hell had the two of them been drinking, anyway? Love Potion Number Nine? "You're going to have to give me a minute to catch up, here." She stood up, shaking her head. "Can I get you anything? Water? Tea? Something to eat?"

Brennan shook her head. "I'm fine, thanks."

"Well I want tequila," Angela said. "Or scotch. I feel like getting sloshed." She held up a hand before Bren could protest. "Don't worry. I'm getting water." She headed toward the kitchen. "Damn breast feeding anyway," she muttered.

Behind her, she thought she heard Brennan laugh.

When she came back Brennan's mood had changed. Her arms were wrapped around a pillow, and she had a pensive, faraway look in her eyes.

Angela set the bottles down on the table. "I brought two," she said. "Just in case."

Brennan's gaze slowly refocused. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Angela dropped onto the couch, grabbed one of the bottles of water, and took a long swig. It helped. A little. "So," she said, determined not to freak out. "When are you due?"

"December." Brennan's gaze flickered to hers, slipped away again. Angela raised an eyebrow. There was a story there, somewhere, but she'd play it cool for a bit, see if Bren brought it up on her own.

"A Christmas baby?" That would be so sweet. She'd buy the kid a bright red onesie. Maybe she could find one with Santa Claus on it. Or … No. A white one. Snow white. With the words 'Mommy's Little Angel' embroidered across the front. It would be worth it just for the look on Bren's face. Brennan's voice snapped her back to the present.

"Maybe, yeah."

It was a remarkably vague answer, considering the source.

"Bren … Look at me." Angela saw shades of worry in the blue eyes that finally met hers. "What's wrong?"

Brennan set the pillow aside, arranging it with meticulous care against the cushions. "Nothing's wrong."

The protest didn't ring true. Angela's trouble radar pinged wildly.

"Don't lie to me, sweetie. You know I can always tell when you're lying."

Brennan was silent for so long that Angela had to bite her lip to keep from prodding her. She took another sip of water instead. The bottle was already half empty.

"I've got …" Bren paused. Looked around as if checking for an audience. She needn't have worried. Jack was upstairs with the baby, and he knew better than to interrupt girl talk. "There's something I need to talk to you about."

Angela leaned forward. "You can talk to me about anything. You know that."

"I know, but …" Brennan picked up the extra bottle of water, shifted it from hand to hand. "I need you to keep this to yourself."

Angela raised her eyebrows. "Oh, I love a good secret," she said, trying to lighten the moment.

Brennan looked up, her gaze solemn. "Seriously, Angela. You can't even tell Hodgins. This has to stay between us."

Angela capped her water bottle. Set it aside.

"Scout's honor," she said, giving the traditional three-fingered salute and earning a puzzled look in reply. "Now what's going on?"

Angela listened, simultaneously fascinated and horrified by Brennan's detached recitation of events. Booth had loved Hannah. Bren had expected them to marry and start the family he'd always wanted. She'd realized too late that she had missed her chance with him. She didn't blame him for turning her down. Booth loved Hannah.

It was like listening to somebody read a grocery list. Angela's only clue to how deeply Brennan had been affected by Hannah's presence in Booth's life was in that last sentence, uttered in heart-breakingly unemotional tones. Booth loved Hannah.

"I wanted him to be happy," Brennan concluded. "Hannah is a good woman. She was good for him." Then, in a softer voice, "She could have given him all the things I can't."

Angela wanted to argue, to insist that all Booth had ever wanted was Bren, and that no, he hadn't really loved Hannah. He'd just been heartbroken and humiliated when Brennan had turned him down, so he'd done what a lot of men did-sought solace and an ego boost in the arms of another woman.

She sighed. If only she hadn't been so wrapped up in her own life these past few months. Maybe she could have helped. But that was all water under the bridge. Now it was time to start filling sand bags and donning life preservers.

"Yes. Hannah was very nice," she hedged, unwilling to interrupt Brennan's train of thought with a lesson in the subtler complications of love.

"So …" Brennan picked at the label on her water bottle, eyes downcast. "Booth and I were over," she said quietly. "I thought all we would ever be was partners."

"Booth was a jackass," Angela said, swallowing a more colorful adjective. Bren had been head-over-heels for him for years, and Booth had been making puppy-dog eyes at her for just as long. The only two people who hadn't acknowledged they were in love were Booth and Brennan themselves.

Brennan smiled a little, then shook her head. "I'm not finished," she said.

"Of course you aren't." And why did she suspect she wasn't going to like what she was about to hear? "Might as well get it all out in the open."

Brennan took a deep breath. Straightened her shoulders.

"I wanted a baby," she said. "I never really stopped wanting that. And watching you, seeing how happy you were …" She shrugged. "I was certain that I would never be in a lasting relationship with a man," she said. "But a child would be different."

"So you … what?" Angela watched, increasingly alarmed as Brennan peeled the last of the sticker from her water bottle. She assembled the bits into a tidy pile on the coffee table, then looked up, meeting Angela's eyes head on. The worry was still there, but now there was a hint of defiance behind it.

"I still had Booth's sperm sample," she said quietly.

"Oh, no." Horrified, Angela could only gape. "Oh, sweetie. Tell me you didn't."

"I considered paying an anonymous donor," Brennan said. Angela could almost hear the flip of a switch as she shifted into scientist mode, separating herself from the emotional implications of the choices she'd made. "But I know Booth. I know his history, his psychological makeup. Genetically speaking, his sperm was the best available option."

She'd compartmentalized all of it, just like she used to compartmentalize everything before Booth had come along to open her up. Her failed relationship with him was in one box. Her desire for a child in another. Reality, apparently, was somewhere else entirely. It was quintessential, old-school Brennan. Only this time she'd boxed herself right into a corner.

"He does have a few minor health issues," Brennan went on, "and I would have preferred a donor with a higher I.Q." She blew out a breath. "But overall, I believe I made the correct decision."

She was hiding behind science, using it to shield her heart. She'd done it before, but never like this.

"No," Angela said gently. She had to make Brennan understand that what she saw as letting go of Booth was really the exact opposite. "No, honey. You didn't use Booth's sperm because it was the best option. You used it because you're so deep in love with him that you can't see straight."

"That isn't true." Brennan tensed. Her chin came up. "I have excellent vision."

She hadn't denied the being in love part, Angela noticed.

"That isn't what I meant." Leaning forward, she took Brennan's hand in hers. It was cool and just slightly clammy. Somehow she doubted either fact had anything to do with the water bottle Bren had just stripped bare with her fingernails. "Brennan … Sweetie … The truth is, you used Booth's sperm because you knew, deep down inside, that if you had his child you would always have a part of him with you." It was sweet in a twisted kind of way, and terribly romantic. But it was also very, very wrong.

"No," Brennan insisted, but she didn't sound as calm anymore. "I didn't think that at all. This was something I decided to do two years ago. I postponed it when Booth got sick, but I never changed my mind. When I saw that Booth was happy with Hannah I decided that it was time to restart the process."

What had Sweets called it? Oh, yeah. Hyper-rationality.

"What if he'd asked you whose sperm you'd used, Bren. What would you have said?"

"I don't know. I don't like the thought of lying to him, but I know how he is about children. He would have felt obligated, and I didn't want that for him. I just …" There were tears in Brennan's eyes, now. Angela watched her blink them furiously away. "I wanted him to be happy, Ange. But I wanted to be happy, too."

And my, my, what a tangled web you wove in the process. Angela sighed. Her heart ached for Bren. She'd wanted so much, yet sometimes she understood so little.

"What did Booth say when you told him?"

Restless fingers poked at the soggy pile of torn paper, corralling it into a tighter pile. "I haven't told him, yet."

Heart sinking, Angela stared at her. "You did not just say that."

Brennan looked up. "Yes, I did."

"But why would you keep it from him? I mean, you two are together now, right? Besides, it obviously didn't take or else-" She stopped as a thought struck her. "It didn't take, did it? This baby you're carrying, it isn't …"

"Because of the IVF?" Brennan reached up to tuck wayward strands of hair behind her ear. "That's just it. I don't know."

The news just kept getting worse. "Can't you tell by the dates?"

More alarm bells went off when Brennan shook her head.

"My last treatment was two days before Vincent's death. There's no way to be completely certain."

Oh, God. OhGodOhGodOhGod. This was not happening. Angela struggled to gather her scattered thoughts.

"Then Vincent died, and you two started having sex and …"

"Yes."

It was a disaster-one made all the worse by the fact that Brennan obviously had no idea just how much trouble she'd be in when Booth found out. "So what are you going to do?"

"That's why I'm here." Brennan finally uncapped her water. Took a long sip. "I was hoping you would give me some advice."

Angela had tried. She really had. She'd told Brennan that she needed to be honest with Booth, that she should tell him what she'd done and make him sit still long enough to hear why. They'd talked about how important family was to Booth and how he would probably freak out at first but Bren shouldn't take it personally. She'd thought Brennan understood, had even gotten her to promise that she would talk to him before she left on her book tour.

But Brennan had chickened out.

Angela got that. She did. Brennan was terrified of losing him. And who could blame her, really? When he wasn't being a jerk, Booth was a pretty amazing guy.

So rather than take the risk, Bren had stuck her head in the sand, probably hoping that either Booth wouldn't find out or that he would understand when he did.

For a smart person, that had been a damned stupid thing to do.

And now they were all going to pay the price.

*x*x*x*x*

Booth reached into the fridge, grabbed a beer, and popped the cap, downing half the bottle in one long, icy swig. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and turned, resting his hip against the counter, staring at nothing.

When the phone rang he didn't move. It rang again. Still nothing. On the third ring he swore and snatched it from its cradle.

"Hey, Bones." He didn't have to check the caller ID. He knew it was her.

"Hi, Booth."

Her voice. That warm, deep caramel she'd taken to using since they'd been together. God … So sweet. He closed his eyes, jaw clenched against the pain.

"You in for the night?" He had to ask, because damn it, he still cared.

"Yes," she said. "And the flowers are beautiful, as usual. Thank you."

The daffodils. Those God damned daffodils. "I'm glad you like them."

"Booth?" She sounded worried. "Is something wrong?"

He almost snorted. Shook his head instead as his fingers tightened around the bottle. "No."

She was silent for several long seconds. "I don't believe you," she said at last.

"Why would I lie to you?" Just because you lied to me?

"I don't know, but your voice isn't right. You sound angry."

Instead of answering, he took another gulp of beer.

"Booth?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you angry about something?"

He set the bottle down on the counter harder than he'd planned. It rocked, tipped, and fell into the sink. Half of what was left sloshed down the drain before he could right it again.

"Why would I be angry?" His voice was low. Dangerous. "What could I possibly have to be angry about?"

Apparently he was going to do this now. Oh, well. At least he wouldn't have to watch those big blue eyes fill with tears. And he wasn't going to let her try to gloss this over with science and reason, either. No way. No fucking way.

"You know, don't you." Her voice was low. Almost inaudible.

"Did you really think I wouldn't find out?" He loosened his tie with a vicious tug. Sent it flying across the room. "I'm a God damned FBI agent," he ground out. "Did you really think I wouldn't figure out what you'd done?"

"No. I was going to-"

"So what was your grand plan? Huh?" He was too fucking pissed off to listen to anything she had to say. "If we hadn't gotten together, what would you have done, Bones? Was that why you set up that job in Canada? Did you have that all worked out ahead of time just in case I wouldn't fuck you?"

He heard her gasp of outrage. Ignored it. "Were you going to just take my kid out of the country and never even tell me about him?" Fury pounded through him at the thought. "You know how I feel about kids. You know!"

"Yes," she lashed out. "I would have left the country if you'd stayed with Hannah. It was obvious that you didn't want anything to do with me, so I didn't see any reason why you should have anything to do with my child.

"It's my child, too, Bones. Or did you forget that part?"

"No," she corrected him. "It wouldn't have been your child. Only your DNA."

He hated that she could so cleanly separate science from emotion, as if one counted for everything, the other for nothing. He gulped more beer, but it didn't cool his boiling temper. Long, tense seconds passed before she spoke again.

"I never intended to hurt you, Booth." She no longer sounded angry, she sounded … Hell, he didn't know how she sounded. And frankly he didn't care.

"Right." He barked out a short, humorless laugh. "As if that counts for anything. Because no way would it hurt to find out that you'd been going behind my back or that you intended to have my child, my child-because make no mistake, Bones, that kid you're carrying is mine-and never even tell me about it."

"Booth … Just. Please. Listen to me."

"Why? So that you can tell me how ridiculous I am for caring about what happens to my own fucking sperm? You've already given me that lecture. I thought you were full of shit then, and I still think you're full of shit."

The depth of her betrayal was staggering. He yanked open the fridge. Grabbed a fresh bottle from the dwindling six pack on the top shelf. "You know what? I almost think I could've handled one try," he said, unscrewing the cap. "When was that first one?" Without waiting for her answer, he snapped his fingers. "That's right. January. I was still with Hannah then, so yeah, I can see you rationalizing your way through that. Hell, nobody can think their way out of a moral dead end as well as you can. I still would've been pissed as hell, but maybe I would've come around eventually." He resisted the urge to smash the bottle he held through a window. "But three?"

A horrible thought struck him. "You reasoned this all out in advance, didn't you. You knew that if you turned up pregnant I'd start asking questions, and you didn't want that. You didn't want me to find out what you'd done." Was their whole relationship based on a lie? He shoved that thought aside, unable to bear the implications. "So you seduced me. You knew I wanted you, knew I thought we could be something special together. And you logicked that right into a cover-up."

"No!" She was pissed again. He could hear it in her voice. But he ignored her and took another long drink.

"I knew you could be cold," he said, "but this …" Another gulp. He wanted to get drunk. Falling down drunk. Passing out drunk. Blackout drunk. Anything to make the pain go away. "This takes the cake."

He dropped both empty bottles in the bin. Listened to them hit bottom, and reached in the fridge for a third.

"It really was an ingenious plan." He didn't even try to keep the bitterness out of his voice as he snapped off the cap. "I guess you decided you didn't want to move to Canada after all. And who can blame you? You've got a good thing going right here in D.C. But you'd already started taking those fertility treatments, so you needed a story, didn't you? And there I was, ripe for the picking." God, he'd been such an idiot.

"No." Desperation, or something like it, replaced the anger in her voice. Desperation and fear. "That isn't what happened at all."

"Right. Because everybody does shit like this." He flicked open the top button on his shirt. Sucked down more beer. "Everybody thinks it's okay to use a guy's sperm without telling him. Without even giving him a chance to do the right thing."

"What would you have done?" she asked. She'd found her feet again, and she was coming out swinging. "Would you have left Hannah because I was having a baby? Or would you have given me another speech about how sorry you were, but you loved Hannah, and she wasn't a consolation prize."

That hit him like a sledgehammer. He would have left Hannah for Bones. In a heartbeat. But he wouldn't have been with Hannah in the first place if Bones hadn't lost it when he'd tried to tell her how he felt about her.

"The point is," he said fiercely, "you didn't even give me the chance to make that decision. And it was my decision to make."

"No, it wasn't." He heard her take a deep, trembling breath and knew she was fighting tears. He tried not to care. "You signed your donation over to me, remember?"

"But I didn't die, Bones. Did you forget that part? I said I wanted you to use it. If. I. Died."

"You signed the paperwork, Booth. I have a copy of the release form."

"I don't care what I signed." His head had started to pound. "And I don't care about logic or science or any of your God damned rationalizations. What you did was wrong."

"You think I should have chosen an anonymous donor," she said. "Out of respect for your sensitivities, I should have burdened my child with inferior genetics."

At any other time he might have been flattered by the implication. Right now he couldn't see past the rush of jealousy that surged through him at the mere thought of her carrying another man's child. His hand closed around the top of the empty beer bottle. He spun. Slammed it into the trash bin, listened to it shatter against the others.

"I'm saying you should have come to me. I should've had a vote."

He would've said yes, damn it. If she'd come to him, told him she wanted to have a baby … He would've said yes. He wanted her to have his baby. Their baby.

He just didn't want it like this.

"I disagree." Her voice was quiet, but determined. "We weren't a couple, Booth. You'd made that clear. The decision I made was about my life. My future. Not yours."

"And what about after Hannah left? What then?"

"The second IUI was just after she left," she said flatly. "You'd given me an ultimatum. Partners or nothing. And you've always said that partners don't talk about sex."

She was right about that. Damn her. He could argue that IVF wasn't sex, but he doubted she'd see his point.

He thought about the dates on the statement. "And the third?" We were back on track by then. I thought maybe we were getting somewhere."

"After the first two IUI attempts were unsuccessful my doctor suggested IVF. That was the week before the blizzard. We were closer, yes, but there were still times when you seemed angry with me."

"So angry that you couldn't talk to me?"

"Angry enough that I decided to wait," she said quietly. "But I had changed my mind about one thing."

"Oh?" He was still pissed off, still hurt, and the damned beer buzz was making it hard to think. "What one thing was that?"

"I'd decided that if the IVF was successful I would tell you the truth. I wouldn't keep your child from you."

"But you didn't decide to stop it, to wait until we could talk things through."

"No." She sighed. "IVF is a longer, more involved, and significantly more expensive procedure, one I'd already begun when we burned those pieces of paper. And I still wanted a baby, Booth. Whatever was happening between us, that hadn't changed. It wouldn't have made sense to cancel on the chance that you might, some day, not be angry anymore."

He didn't respond. After a few seconds of silence she continued, her voice quiet. Resigned.

"I understand if you want to end our relationship. I even understand if you never want to see me again. But I will never, never regret having this child."

He started to say something, but she interrupted him.

"Goodbye, Booth."

There was a soft click, and she was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Todd studied Temperance as she gave her talk. He was worried about her. She hadn't been herself since Minneapolis. He'd thought maybe she just needed some time to think through whatever was bothering her, but two days and an entire state later she was still pale except for those dark shadows under her eyes. She wasn't engaging with the audience as well, either. Her answers were short, to the point, and utterly lacking in warmth. It seemed like overnight she'd become the Temperance Brennan of old. Rational. Distant. Aloof.

His cellphone flashed with an incoming message. He knew what it said without looking. What he didn't know was how to respond. He wasn't sure what, or who, had caused the sudden shift in her mood, but he suspected he could make a pretty fair guess. He reached across the table, his eyes still on Temperance, and picked up the phone.

_How's she doing?_

Suspicions confirmed, Todd sighed and wondered how to answer. He was damned if he knew whether he should lie or tell the truth.

The truth, he decided finally. Or something like it. He wasn't going to lie, and if her mood was Booth's fault, he should hear about it. Two words, and then he'd drop it. Let the two of them sort it out. And thank God they were almost done with the tour. They would hit Chicago tomorrow, and for once it wasn't one of the big chains. Maybe there would be something about the audience that would warm her up a little. He typed in the message and sent it off before he could start second guessing himself.

_Not good_

He set the phone aside. Temperance was almost done speaking, and there was work to do. By the time he'd set out her pens, filled her water glass, and checked that the extra stacks of books were tidy, she was wrapping up. While she started on autographs he organized the audience and spoke with her fans, thanking them for coming, discussing their favorite scenes from the books, and offering vague hints as to what she might be writing next. But he kept an eye on her the whole time, making sure to stay close in case she should need him.

Chuck was near the end of the line today, he noticed. Todd stopped to thank him for coming to yet another signing. The man didn't look like his pockets were lined with gold, but he'd still found a way to follow Temperance all over the country. That was dedication.

"Are you coming all the way to Chicago with us?" Todd asked, after exchanging a friendly handshake.

"I don't think so." Chuck had an odd, gruff way of speaking that made Todd wonder about his past. "Don't want to make all them lady folk nervous."

"Lady folk?" Todd grinned. Chuck reminded him of his uncle, all Bible-belt courtly and harmless as a six-o'clock shadow. Talking with him always made Todd think of his mother's buttermilk biscuits and his father's coon hounds.

"Well, you know how it is. It's one of them feminist bookstores. Men like you and me, well, we might not be too welcome."

"Oh, I'm sure that isn't true at all," Todd said diplomatically. "Besides, you've come with us this far. Do you really want to miss out on the last stop?"

"I don't reckon I'll be missing out on much," Chuck said. He craned his neck around Todd. Lowered his voice. "She don't seem like herself today. I think maybe she's gettin' tired." He drew his head back in. Leveled a sharp-eyed glance at Todd. "She okay?"

"She's fine," Todd reassured him, though he wasn't at all sure of that himself. "It's just been a busy few weeks."

"Yeah," but Chuck still looked doubtful. "I guess so. Still and all, I think I'll catch an early flight home tomorrow." He gave Todd a quick, rueful grin. "'Sides, it'll be one less book for her to sign. She might be grateful for the break."

Todd chuckled obligingly at the joke, but he hoped Temperance's mood improved before they hit Chicago. He preferred to end these tours on a high note.

The crowd thinned quickly, and it wasn't long before they started cleaning up. Temperance worked as hard as ever, but her movements lacked their usual energy, and he was glad when they finished and could finally escape into the early Milwaukee evening.

"How about dinner?" Todd asked, careful to keep his voice casual.

Temperance shook her head. "I'm not very hungry," she said. "I think I'd rather just take a sandwich back to the hotel."

"Come on," he coaxed. "You can eat all the sandwiches you want on the train. Join me for some real food."

She gave him a wan smile but didn't answer right away. He was about to prod her again when she finally nodded. "Okay."

He decided on Italian food. The calorie-dense carbs would do her good-or at least they would if he could get her to eat.

Not surprisingly, when faced with an actual menu, Temperance ordered a salad. It wasn't what he'd hoped for, but at least she was eating something. When their food arrived she picked at hers, and Todd finally shook his head. Setting his fork down, he leaned toward her.

"All right," he said. "What's going on?"

She blinked at him. "Nothing," she said, but her voice was hollow. Flat. "I'm fine."

"Right." He sat back while their server refilled their water glasses, then leaned forward again. "Then why do you look like your best friend just died?"

When she winced he raised his eyebrows. "That hit a little too close to home, didn't it."

"No, it's just …" She bit her lip. Shook her head. Then she pushed her plate away and dropped her hands into her lap. "Booth found out."

His heart sank. "About the fertility thing?"

"Yes."

Suddenly her lack of appetite made sense. "How did he react?"

"Exactly the way you and Angela said he would."

Damn. He'd hoped he was wrong, that the guy would at least listen to her explanation. Todd reached out. Touched her hand.

"He'll come around, Temp. It was just a shock, that's all. Give him some time."

"No." There were tears in her eyes. He'd never seen her cry before, and it made him want to punch Special Agent Seeley Booth. Gun or no gun. "I think-" She drew in a deep breath, let it out on a long, slow sigh. "I think it's over, Todd."

He wanted to tell her that she had to be wrong, that the man would realize how lucky he was to have her, and that with time Booth would forgive her for what had admittedly been a monumentally bad decision. But he didn't really know Booth. Maybe the man was a total son-of-a-bitch who would dump a gorgeous, brilliant woman over this. But it didn't seem to him that Temperance would fall for a guy like that.

"What are you going to do?" he asked her quietly.

She swiped at her eyes. Straightened her spine. "I'll be fine," she said. "Please don't worry about me."

He snorted at that. "Friends worry," he said. "It's part of the job." He nudged her plate back toward her, hoping she would eat at least another bite or two. "And I like to think of myself as your friend."

That earned him a faint smile.

"You need to eat something." He nudged the plate again. "That baby you're incubating needs nourishment."

"Incubating?" The faint spark of amusement in her eyes was the first he'd seen from her in two days.

He gave her a grin, a wave of the hand. "Hey, you aren't the only one who can use big words around here."

"Mammals don't incubate their young," she said. "And I'm not a chicken."

He laughed outright at that. "No, you certainly aren't."

She picked up her fork and gave him a look from under her eyelashes that made him wonder if she knew he was teasing her. "What I'm doing-" She stabbed a tomato. "-is gestating."

She could call it whatever the hell she wanted to as long as she kept eating. He pushed the basket of garlic bread a few inches closer.

"What about that job in Canada?" he asked. She'd mentioned the offer when they'd been in New Orleans, but she hadn't seemed serious about it. "Maybe a fresh start is exactly what you need."

Her eyes snapped up, and she shook her head. "I wouldn't do that to Booth," she said. "I won't keep him from his child, even if he and I aren't together anymore."

The way she said it, with steely determination in her voice and fire in her eyes, had him raising his eyebrows. Whatever Booth might be feeling about her right now, it was pretty obvious that she was still in love with him.

She was watching him, her gaze steady as she shredded a piece of garlic bread onto her plate.

"I'll be okay alone." She dropped the rest of the bread. Pushed the plate away again. "Some people just aren't meant to be in a relationship."

It was probably the most depressing thing she'd ever said to him, and the toneless way she said it was even worse. "I don't believe that's true about anybody," he said, "but especially not about you."

She shrugged. "That's your right," she said. There was no venom in her voice, only a kind of calm acceptance. "If you don't mind, I think I'd like to go back to my hotel now."

He nodded, settled the bill, and escorted her out of the restaurant. She was quiet on the ride back, but she gave him a faint smile as she climbed out of the rental car.

"Don't worry about me," she said again, and he wondered if she thought that repetition would make it true. "I'll be fine."

He just managed not to snort. Nodded his head instead. "Goodnight, Temperance."

"Goodnight," she said. "I'll see you in Chicago."

*x*x*x*x*

Booth picked up the heavy glass, his eyes on the amber liquid inside. He took a sip and let its heat roll down his throat. He'd come here straight from what had been a hellish day at the office. He'd snapped at Genny Shaw when she'd stopped by to ask him an innocent question, had all but slammed his office door in Sweets's face, and got caught unprepared when Hacker had asked him for an update on one of his cases.

All in all, a truly crappy day.

With the next swallow he felt the buzz start behind his eyes. Hard alcohol on an empty stomach was the quickest path to oblivion he knew, and exactly what he wanted right now.

"Mind if I join you?"

He looked over, saw who it was, and gestured at the stool beside him. "Help yourself."

Camille settled in and waved the bartender over. "I'll have what he's having," she said, hooking a finger toward Booth. When her drink arrived a few seconds later she sniffed at it and gave him a sidelong glance, eyebrows raised.

"How many of these have you had?"

Booth held up two fingers and waved the bartender in for a refill.

"Well." She took a careful sip of her own drink. "I figure that means one of two things. Either you got fired or somebody broke your heart."

He gave a short, humorless laugh. "Something like that."

"I'd have gotten a call if you'd been fired," she said, giving no evidence that she'd heard him. "So what did Dr. Brennan do?"

His fingers flexed against the base of his glass. His jaw clenched. "You sure got there in a hurry."

Cam shrugged, her gaze steady on his. "There aren't too many things in this world that can make you drink yourself stupid, but Temperance Brennan is right at the top of the list."

She was right about that much. He scooped a handful of peanuts out of the bowl on the bar. Dropping most of them on his napkin, he popped the last one into his mouth and chased it down with a gulp of scotch.

"So?" Cam reached out, picked up his glass, and set it next to hers, giving him a pointed look. "What did she do this time?"

Booth did a quick visual recon, checking for eavesdroppers. When it appeared they wouldn't be overheard, he turned back to Cam.

"She used my … stuff," he said, repressing a surge of embarrassment. He couldn't believe he was talking about this here, and to Cam of all people. But hell, he had to talk to someone.

"Your stuff." She raised an eyebrow. "Really."

Booth huffed in annoyance.

"Not, like, my stuff," he said, trying to clarify without actually saying the word. They were in public, after all. "My … _stuff_."

She stared at him for a puzzled moment. Then, "Oh," she said, drawing out the single syllable on a long exhale as her expression cleared. "_That_ stuff."

"Yes, _that_ stuff." Irritated, Booth tossed more peanuts into his mouth. Now that Cam was around, it seemed a good idea to mop up some of the alcohol that was sloshing through his system.

"_That's_ how she got pregnant? I assumed that you two …"

He glared at her as he swallowed. "We did."

"So the other thing … That was before?"

"Most of it."

"Most of it." Cam slid his glass back over in front of him. "No wonder you went straight for the scotch."

Booth said nothing, but he felt her eyes on him. Ignoring her, he took a fresh handful of peanuts from the bowl and dumped them on his napkin.

"So are you going to fill me in?" Cam asked. "Or do I have to guess."

It took almost an hour to lay it all out for her. By the time he finished she was shaking her head.

"Can't you two do anything like normal people?" she asked.

Booth signalled for another drink. "Apparently not."

Cam waited until the bartender moved off before speaking again. "So she made this decision after the Eames case."

He nodded. And that had been months ago. He still couldn't wrap his head around it. All that time without saying a word. To anybody.

"And that was also when you told her it was too late for the two of you?"

"Yes." He could still see it in his mind's eye. The rain. The darkness. The way her tears had glinted on her cheeks each time they'd passed under a streetlamp. That thirty-minute trip back to her apartment had been the longest, quietest half hour of his life. "She said she didn't want to have any regrets." In retrospect, the phrase was eerily prophetic.

Cam drained the last of her drink and set the empty glass aside. "I was afraid something like this would happen," she said.

Booth had begun toying with a napkin, idly folding it into a fan, but at Cam's words he fired a sharp glance at her. "You thought she might go back to the clinic?"

"Not exactly, no."

"What, then?" _And why hadn't she said anything to him?_

She studied him thoughtfully. "Do you remember what I said to you after you had your brain surgery?" She pushed a bowl of pretzels toward him as he shook his head. "I warned you that if you broke her heart she would never trust anybody again." She helped herself to a pretzel. "You turned her down after the Eames case, right? Told her you loved Hannah?" Snapping the pretzel in half, she dropped one piece on her napkin and the other in her mouth. "What did you expect her to do?"

"Hey, she turned me down first."

"Oh, that's mature." Cam narrowed a piercing gaze at him. "From what I heard, you didn't put up much of a fight."

"What the hell was I supposed to do? Get down on my knees and beg?"

With a snort of disgust, Cam shook her head. "Don't be stupid."

"What then?"

"Look, I don't know what went down between you two that sent her running off to Maluku, but whatever it was must have scared her to death." A burst of raucous laughter from a nearby table drew Cam's glance, but Booth ignored it and took another drink. Cam waited until he'd set down the glass before speaking again."You know how she is, Seeley. You should have given her more time."

Booth leaned in close. He kept his voice low, but it vibrated with anger. "I gave her plenty of time," he said. "Hell, I didn't even argue when she ran half way across the world."

Cam didn't flinch from his anger, but she never did. It was one of the things he liked about her. She didn't scare easily.

"No. Instead you went to Afghanistan and found yourself a new girlfriend," she said, aiming one perfectly-arched eyebrow in his direction. "_That's_ your idea of giving her time?"

He stiffened. "So you're saying this is all _my_ fault?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying at all."

"Then what the hell _are_ you saying?"

"Just that maybe you should try looking at things from Dr. Brennan's point of view for a change."

"For a change?" He wanted, suddenly, to smash his glass into the mirror behind the bar, just for the satisfaction of seeing both glass and mirror shatter. "I've been looking at things from her point of view for more than six years, Camille. Six. Fucking. Years."

"No," Unfazed by his anger, Cam brushed crumbs into a neat pile with her napkin. "You've been trying to change her for six years." She looked up, meeting his eyes. "You kept pushing her to open up, to trust people again, to see the world in something other than black and white." She crumpled the napkin into a ball. Dropped it on the gleaming wood of the bar. "And it was working, too. Bit by bit she was coming out of her shell." He saw the hint of a smile tilt up the corners of her lips. "I was proud of you," she said softly. "I never knew you had that kind of patience. Hell, I'll admit it. I was even a little bit jealous. I'd never seen you take that kind of time with anybody else."

She uncrossed her legs, smoothed down her skirt. "I could see that the two of you were building something special." Her gaze met his again. There was a question there, one he wasn't sure he was ready to answer. "But you got impatient."

Damn Sweets, with his stupid book and his 'you're the gambler' line.

"The point is, she turned me down." He could still see the look on her face, still hear the pain in her voice as she'd insisted she was protecting him. "And then she ran."

"But she came back," Cam said. "And you know what the ironic part is?"

"No," he said bitterly, "but I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"She changed while she was down there. When she came back-" She shrugged. "She was different, Seeley. More self aware, maybe. And when she looked at you..." Leaving the thought unfinished, Cam shook her head, sighed, and signalled the bartender for a refill. "But you were still too hurt and too pissed off to see it, so when Hannah turned up in Washington you leapt at the chance to show Brennan just how fine you really were." She looked him in the eye, her gaze steady. Calm. "Hannah was your revenge."

"She was not!" The suggestion sent him reeling. He'd asked Hannah to marry him, hadn't he? Didn't that count for anything? Didn't it prove how serious he'd been? Maybe he hadn't loved her in the same all-encompassing way he loved Bones, but he could have built a life with Hannah, could have been content with second best.

Unmoved, Cam nodded her thanks to the bartender and took a sip of her drink. "Stop lying to yourself, Seeley. You're too smart for that." She set the glass down, nudged it back with the tip of one finger. "Hannah was all about making Dr. Brennan pay for breaking your heart."

He wanted to argue with her, insist that he would never do something like that. But this was Cam. She'd been his friend for too long, knew him too well. Still, had he really used Hannah to get even? And if he had, what kind of person did that make him?

"Dr. Brennan thinks you changed your mind, Seeley." She said it quietly, her gaze steady on his. "And that means all bets are off."

"So you _are_ saying this is all my fault."

"No, I'm not," she insisted. "I'm just trying to help you see where she's coming from."

He leaned in and lowered his voice to something just shy of a whisper, but the hurt was still there, even in the quiet. "She stole my sperm." That was the heart of it. That was why he was here, why he was doing his damnedest to get wasted.

"I don't think that's how she sees it." Cam helped herself to another pretzel. "As far as Dr. Brennan was concerned that sperm was hers, free and clear. Hell, she waited for two years. Didn't it even occur to you to wonder what she was waiting for?"

It didn't matter why she'd waited, only that she'd stopped waiting without bothering to discuss it with him.

"Bones was trying to get pregnant, Camille." He didn't know what bothered him more, the fact that she'd gone back to the clinic or the fact that she hadn't trusted him enough to talk to him about it. "She was going to have my kid, move to Canada, and never even tell me about him." He punctuated the last few words with sharp jabs of his finger against the bar.

"What are you _really_ pissed off about?" Her voice was quiet, but steady. "Is it that she used your sperm without telling you?" Meeting his eyes, she asked the question he hadn't yet found the courage to ask himself. "Or is it that she moved on."

_Both!_ he wanted to shout. But he said nothing, choosing instead to take refuge in another gulp of scotch.

"Let me ask you something." Cam shifted, recrossing her legs and angling her body toward his.

Booth set his glass down on the bar with a thud. "Shoot."

"Does she know how you feel about her?"

He blinked at her as the question percolated through his alcohol-fogged brain. "What kind of question is that? Of course she does!"

Images flashed through his mind, each one clear as a photograph. Walking on the beach, her head on his shoulder. Making love by candlelight, by moonlight, by daylight. Talking for hours on end. The brilliance of her smile. The warmth in her eyes. Her expression when they'd lain on the beach and he'd splayed his fingers across the gentle rise of her stomach.

"Seeley ..."

He felt Cam's hand on his arm and looked over to find her watching him.

"I mean," she said, "have you ever actually said the words?"

_Oh._ He sighed. _Thinking it probably didn't count._ "The last time I even came close she ran all the way to Maluku." He didn't bother mispronouncing the name. Bones wasn't around to correct him.

"Now she's in Chicago." Cam looked worried. "And all she knows is that you're pissed as hell at her." She shook her head. "You're either incredibly brave or thick as a brick."

Booth thought about the text messages he'd exchanged with Todd the previous day. At the time Booth had been too pissed off to care about the _not good _response. Hell, if anything he'd felt vindicated knowing that Bones was hurting, too. Now he stared at Cam in alarm.

"She won't run." At least he didn't think she would. Bones had promised she wouldn't keep him from his child, but the way she'd ended the call, with that quiet resignation in her voice … God, what if …?

"I don't know, Seeley, but if I were Temperance Brennan? I'd definitely be considering my options."

If she did run he would go after her. He wouldn't let her drop out of his life like she had when she'd gone to Maluku. No way in hell he was going to go through that again.

The music changed to something upbeat, its strong bass line and steady, pulsating rhythm seasoned with sounds of passing traffic and snippets of conversation as customers came and went through the front door. Glasses clinked. On the flatscreen tv in the corner a sportscaster droned on about Tiger Woods. Booth ignored all of it, caught up in thoughts of Bones and what he would do if she disappeared.

"You bastard." The venomous growl came from somewhere just behind his left shoulder. Booth turned.

And reeled back when Angela's slap almost knocked him off the stool.

"What the-?"

"How _could_ you?" Angela faced him, hands on her hips and fire in her eyes.

"Angela!" Cam's shock was plain in her voice. "What the hell was that for?"

Angela's gaze didn't flicker from Booth's. "I talked to Brennan this afternoon."

"Of course you did." Booth waved off the bartender's concern and rubbed at his cheek."Ow."

Angela ignored him, directing her explanation to Cam. "He accused her of seducing him as part of some kind of cover up."

"Tell me you didn't," Cam said, wide eyed.

Booth leaned back against the bar, putting some distance between himself and Angela. He'd suspected something like this was coming. Hell, he was surprised it hadn't happened earlier. It had been three days since he and Bones had argued.

"What?" he asked. "I'm not the one who's in the wrong here." And why the hell were the two of them staring at him like he'd grown an extra head?

Angela and Cam exchanged one of their are-all-men-this-stupid looks before Angela turned on him again.

"Bren screwed up," she said. "No question. She screwed up royally. And I don't blame you for being pissed." She stepped closer, invading his personal space. "But she would never," she hissed. "_Never_ seduce you in order to hide what she'd done."

"She sucker-punched me!" Booth took a fortifying gulp of scotch, felt the liquid courage slide down his throat. "Haven't you ever said anything in the heat of the moment that you regretted later?" Whatever else might or might not be true, Angela was right. Bones was far too honest for those kinds of games.

"Did you tell her you regretted it?" Angela pressed. "Did you apologize?"

"Not yet," he said. He wasn't about to admit that he hadn't spoken with Bones at all since the argument, or that the quiet finality of that last goodbye had kept him up for most of the last three nights.

"You'd better apologize, or so help me-"

It was Cam who saved him. "Angela, take it easy."

"Take it easy!" Angela spun toward Cam. "My best friend is out there pregnant, alone, and convinced that the man she loves never wants to see her again."

Booth swallowed hard. _How the hell had Bones gotten that idea?_ He needed to call her, set her straight before she did something stupid. At Cam's significant look he sighed.

"Look. I'll talk to her. Okay?" How had this happened, anyway? _He_ was the injured party here.

"So what did I miss?" Jack came up behind Angela and draped a casual arm around her shoulders, his gaze sliding from Booth to the two women and back again. "Geez, man. What the hell did you do?"

Booth threw up his hands. "I don't even know anymore."

Angela angled her head to look at her husband. "I told you on the way over."

"Yeah, but still … Why are you two glaring at Booth?" Jack looked as puzzled as Booth felt. "Dr. Brennan used his sperm without asking him. Seems to me he's the one who ought to be pissed."

Hodgins was a little weird, but right now Booth would take any ally he could get. "Thank you." He offered Jack a grateful fist bump.

Hodgins bumped back. "Seriously though. Dr. Brennan is loaded. She could afford prize-winning sperm, but she picked yours instead. How cool is that?"

_Was that a compliment or an insult?_ Booth didn't ask. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Hodgins leaned in close to Angela. "Why did she pick Booth, anyway?" he asked her, sotto voce.

She elbowed him hard enough that Booth heard the whoosh of escaping air. "Because she loves him, you big lug."

"Oh." Hodgins nodded solemnly. "Right."

"Has the whole damned world gone mad?" Booth blew out a sigh. "Look. I appreciate what you're all trying to do, but this is between Bones and me, okay? We'll handle it."

Angela made a move to step closer, but Jack held her back. She glared at Booth. "You'd better handle it."

"Give the guy a break, Ange." Jack leaned in, kissed his wife's temple. "It was just a shock, that's all. They'll work it out."

Angela looked doubtful. Jack squeezed her shoulders. "Can we go home, now?" he asked. "Michael's going to be hungry soon, and the babysitter looked pretty wigged out at the idea of handling frozen breast milk."

Angela nodded, but the instant Jack dropped his guard she stepped in close to Booth again.

"Bren loves you more than anything," she said quietly. "Now. _You_ know-" She jabbed a finger at his chest. "And _I_ know-" Jabbed it at her own. "That the real reason she used your sperm was because it was the only way she could keep you and let you go at the same time." She straightened. Backed off a half step. "Try to remember that when you talk to her."

With that she spun on her heel and walked out, leaving Jack to say their goodbyes before hurrying after her.

Cam turned to look at Booth after they'd gone. "Well," she said. "That was … Interesting."

Booth gestured to the bartender. "I suppose that's one word for it." He nodded to the barkeep. "Coke. Straight up. No ice."

At Cam's raised eyebrows, he shrugged. "I think I've had enough booze for one night."

"Hear, hear," Cam said, and added her order to his. "Make mine a diet. Plenty of ice." She shot a glance at Booth. "How you drink soda without ice …" She shook her head.

"Ice just waters it down." Booth popped a pretzel into his mouth. Did Bones really think he never wanted to see her again? Because she couldn't be more wrong. No matter how pissed he was about what she'd done he couldn't begin to imagine a life without her in it. He wanted her, would always want her. In his life, in his heart, by his side and in his arms. Nothing would change that.

"So what are you going to do?" Cam asked quietly.

"I don't know." The anger was gone, but the hurt was still there in the dull throb behind his eyes. "I just … I can't believe she did it, you know?"

"I can."

Their drinks arrived, and Booth swallowed half of his before looking over at her. She gazed steadily back at him, calm certainty in her dark eyes.

"She loves you, Seeley. At least as much as you love her. Maybe more."

"That doesn't give her the right-"

"No," Cam interrupted him. "It doesn't." She touched his arm, still holding his gaze. "But it sure explains a hell of a lot."

Booth downed the rest of his soda and signalled for the check. "Yeah, well, I'm still pissed as hell about it."

Cam grinned, her eyes alight with humor and affection. "No you aren't."

He pulled out his wallet, fished inside, and slapped a credit card down on the counter. "Yeah? How do you figure that?"

"I've known you for a lot of years, Seeley Booth. If you were still pissed off you'd be ordering another scotch instead of high-tailing it out of here so you could call Dr. B."

His mouth tilted into a half smile despite his best efforts to hold it back. "How do you know that's what I'm doing?"

Cam's unladylike snort made him chuckle as he figured the tip and signed off on the credit card receipt.

"Right," she said in a skeptical drawl, signalling for her own bill. She shot him a sideways glance and a slight frown. "You are taking a cab, right?"

"Of course I am." He slid off the stool, waited until the world steadied, then looked at her. "You going to be okay here?"

She waved a twenty at him. "I'm right behind you."

He waited until he was in the taxi to pull out his cellphone. He was about to hit the speed dial code when he noticed the time. Damn it. She probably hadn't finished at the bookstore yet. He wanted to talk to her, put this whole fight to rest once and for all, but he didn't want to interrupt her event to do it. Text message, then. Maybe she would check it between autographs.

"I'm sorry," he typed. He wasn't sorry for being mad, but in typical Seeley Booth style, he'd handled the whole thing like an ass, letting emotion overrun common sense. He thought about what Cam had said, hesitated, and punched in the last ten characters before he could change his mind. Then he took a deep breath, sent up a fervent prayer ...

And hit the send button.

Brennan finished her last talk with a sigh of relief. The past few days had been difficult, but it was almost over now. In twenty-four hours she would board the train and head home. She'd been to eleven cities in four weeks-a less intensive tour than the ones she usually did, but still productive-and she was more than ready to get back home and start adjusting to life without Booth.

"All set?" Todd asked at her elbow. She'd been so preoccupied that she hadn't noticed he'd pulled out a chair for her.

"Yes. Thank you." She sat down, mustered a smile, and accepted the first book. "For whom am I signing?" she asked, barely even glancing up.

"Just, 'to C' would be perfect, thank you."

Brennan signed, letting the letters loop larger than she usually did, and closed the book. When she lifted her head to hand it back, she paused. There was something vaguely familiar about the woman on the other side of the table. Silly, she thought. She had interacted with hundreds of fans over the past few weeks. It was perfectly understandable that some of them would bear a certain physical resemblance to each other. Shaking her head, she offered another smile.

"Thank you for coming," she said. "I hope you enjoyed the lecture."

"I did," the woman said. "Very much so." She was taller than Brennan. Statuesque was the word that came to mind. And quite stylish. Still, try as she might Brennan couldn't place what was familiar about her. There wasn't time to dwell on it, though. Turnout at this last event had been excellent, and a long line of people was waiting for her attention.

The next two hours were filled with autograph after autograph, forced smiles, and inane pleasantries that never stopped feeling awkward, despite the amount of practice she'd had. By the time the last fan turned away from the table the store was getting ready to close.

Brennan dropped her pen and rubbed at her temples.

"Headache?" Todd asked.

She mustered a weak smile. "It's been a long day."

"It's been a long tour." He was worried about her, his concern clear in the timbre and pitch of his voice.. "Why don't you head on back to your hotel and get some rest?"

"No, I'm okay. I prefer to assist with the cleanup." Somebody had left a half-full bottle of water on the table. She picked it up, dumped it in the trash can at her side, and tossed a used up pen in after it.

"Temperance." At the unexpected firmness of his tone, she looked up at him. "Go," he said. "I'll finish up here." He grinned. "If you're really feeling guilty, you can take me to dinner at the Lockwood tomorrow before you catch the train. We'll do our wrap-up over free-range chicken and wild mushroom soup."

She shook her head. "I'm a vegetarian, remember?"

"Doesn't mean I have to be," he shot back. "Besides, you said you've been having cravings, right? Who's to say you won't have one for free-range chicken?"

She smiled despite herself. Sometimes Todd reminded her of Russ.

"We'll see," she said noncommittally. She reached for a stack of books, intending to return them to their box, but Todd stopped her.

"Seriously," he said, "let me finish up. Enjoy your evening. Hell, you're staying at the Palmer House. How many people ever get to do that?"

She started to respond, but he shook his head, interrupting her.

"Don't start quoting statistics at me. Go. Get some rest. You've earned it."

Cleaning up wasn't her job. She knew that. The bookstore employees were accustomed to it being theirs. But Todd had once pointed out the importance of public relations, explaining that bookstore clerks were the front line between her and her readers. Clerks and store managers, he'd explained, controlled the visibility of her books in their stores, so it was important to make a good impression on them. It was a logical observation, so she always tried to be as personable as she could and to help with the work at both the beginning and end of her events.

Tonight, though … Todd was right. She'd had enough.

She got to her feet, and when Todd stood up with her she gave him an impulsive hug.

"Thanks, Todd."

"You bet." He let her go and took a half step back. "I meant what I said, though. The Lockwood. Tomorrow. I want that chicken."

She laughed. "Okay, but it'll have to be a late lunch. My train leaves at six."

"How about three?"

"Sounds perfect."

"I'll see you then," he said. "I'll be the hungry guy with the charming smile."

With another grin and a shake of her head, Brennan reached for her bag. "Maybe I should warn them that you're coming. Tell them they should order extra."

Todd's smile was infectious. "Might be a good idea."

Her cellphone vibrated in her pocket as she neared the door. She pulled it out and checked the display. It was a text message from Booth. She hesitated. It was highly probable that he was still angry, in which case she should wait until she got back to the hotel to read his note. But she missed him, and even typed words on a screen were better than nothing at all. Decision made, she hit the button to open the message.

_I'm sorry_, she read.

Then her heart skipped a beat as she read the rest.

_I love you_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Booth tossed and turned, checked his cellphone half a dozen times, and finally sat up and snapped on the light.

Bones hadn't called.

She had called every day of the tour, including the past three nights, when he'd let her roll over to voice mail. Every. Single. Day.

Until the day he sent her a text message telling her he loved her.

He stewed. He worried. He paced the floor. Finally he snatched up his cellphone and dialed her number.

It rang four times and rolled over to voicemail.

He disconnected. Dialed again.

And got her voicemail. Again.

He called her hotel, asked for her room, and listened while that went to voicemail as well.

He was about to dial her cell again when his screen flashed with an incoming text message. He punched it open.

_Taking some time off. Will be in touch. Plz don't call._

_*x*x*x*x*_

Booth had spent the rest of the night trying to convince himself that the message he'd gotten had been intended for somebody else. It had been late when she'd sent it, and she'd probably turned her ringer off right after, not wanting to be disturbed while she slept. It was harder to explain why she wouldn't have answered the phone in her room, but he could almost chalk that up to a glitch or some kind of random hotel error. Nevertheless, anxiety had him pacing the floor rather than returning to bed, and the feeling hadn't subsided with the dawn.

Which was why he was at the Jeffersonian at eight thirty instead of the Hoover.

Booth found Angela in her office fussing over a new piece of equipment. She looked up from a thick manual she'd spread across its bulky surface, her lips thinning a little when she recognized him.

"Hello, Booth," she said, her tone and eyes cool.

He ignored her mood and gave the new equipment no more than a cursory glance as he moved into the room.

"Have you heard from Bones?" he asked.

Maybe Angela knew something he didn't, like if Bones was freaked out by the text he'd sent or still pissed off at him because of their fight. He wanted her to be freaked out or pissed off, because the alternatives were worse.

Angela flipped the thick manual closed and set it aside. "You haven't?" Her gaze narrowed as she echoed his thoughts. "Maybe she's still pissed at you."

"I got a text from her late last night," he said, ignoring the jibe. "But she isn't answering her phone or returning her messages."

Angela raised an eyebrow in a way that made his blood run cold. "What time last night?"

"A little after midnight."

"That's odd …" She reached into her desk, came up with her own cellphone. "I got a text from her around then, too. I was going to call her in a few minutes, try to get her to change her mind."

Booth's pulse kicked into overdrive._ Please, God. Let her be okay_. "What did she say?"

"Not much." Angela was busy punching buttons on her phone. "But I remember thinking it was odd that she used chat speak. Bren never does that. She says it's lazy." She handed him the phone. "Here."

_Taking some time off. Will be in touch. Plz don't call._

Bile rose in Booth's throat as the few bites of toast he'd choked down that morning turned to acid in his stomach. "That's the same message she sent me."

"Exactly the same?" Angela seemed surprised and more than a little alarmed, and Booth took comfort in knowing he wasn't the only one who found it odd.

He handed the phone back, nerves jumping. "Word for word."

"Bren never uses chat speak," Angela said again.

"I know." Booth blew out a breath and forced himself to slow down. He had to think, and he couldn't do that with his pulse pounding in his ears and his hands going clammy with sweat.

"Do you know if she sent the message to anybody else?" Angela asked.

He shook his head. "You were my first stop." He hoped she hadn't, that the identical messages were just because Bones had been in a hurry, but his instincts were telling him otherwise. He gestured toward her computer. "I already tried her cell twice this morning, but there was some kind of glitch with the phone lines and I couldn't get through to her hotel. Do you mind checking the number?"

Angela's fingers were already flying over the keyboard. "Try this," she said. "It's a different number from the one on her itinerary." She read it off. Booth punched it into his cellphone and waited impatiently for the call to be answered at the other end.

"Thank you for calling The Palmer House." The guy who answered on the second ring sounded like somebody's butler. "How may direct your call?"

"Temperance Brennan's room, please."

There was a brief pause, the distant click of a keyboard, and then the butler's voice again. "I'm sorry. Dr. Brennan checked out late last night."

Booth's gaze snapped up to meet Angela's more alarm bells went off in his head. "Did she say where she was going?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid I wasn't on duty at the time."

_Damn it_. "Can you tell me who was?"

"That would be Miss Lamarre," the butler said.

"How can I contact her?"

"Miss Lamarre has already left for the day, but if you would like to call back this evening …"

"I'll do that. Thank you." Booth ended the call and shoved his cellphone in his pocket. When he looked up, it was to an openly worried Angela.

"She wouldn't run, Booth." There wasn't a shred of doubt in Angela's voice as their gazes connected. "Bren never runs from a fight. She only runs when she's scared. And she isn't scared of you. Not anymore."

Except for the fact that he'd told her he loved her. There was a chance that she still wasn't ready to deal with that. Without responding, he started toward the door.

"Booth. Wait."

He turned. "What?"

Angela opened a drawer and fished out a piece of paper. "There's something you should see."

Booth crossed back to take the the paper, scanned it, and felt the tension in his spine ratchet up another notch. "What the hell is this?"

"It's a description," Angela said.

"I can see that," he snapped. Height. Weight. Age. Eye color. "Who the hell is Chuck?"

"He's this guy Bren told me about. She said he turned up at every stop on her tour."

Booth stared at her. "Why didn't she tell _me_ about him?"

"I wanted her to, but she insisted the guy was harmless." There was fear in Angela's eyes. "She made me promise not to say anything to you."

It was all Booth could do not to shake her.

"You should have told me anyway," he said, coldly furious. "If you had, maybe this wouldn't have happened."

"I'm sorry." She sounded as if she meant it, but he didn't care. Bones was missing, and Angela had withheld the one piece of information that might have kept her safe.

Booth shoved the paper into his pocket and turned away.

"Booth."

It was all he could do to keep his voice level as he glanced back at her, one hand on the doorknob. "What?"

"You have to find her."

He stared at her for a long moment in silence. "Oh, I will." His fingers tightened around the scrap of paper in his pocket. "You can bet on that."

And God help anybody who got in his way.

*x*x*x*x*

Cam was at her desk, her head bent over some paperwork. She looked up at his quick knock and gave him one of those ready smiles that lit up her face and made her eyes sparkle.

"Booth! Come on in."

"Have you heard from Bones?" he asked without preamble.

She blinked and sat back in her chair, studying him carefully. "Why do you ask?"

"I got a text message from her late last night." He waited a beat. "And Angela got the same message a few minutes later."

Cam's smile faded. She reached for her phone, punched in a series of commands, and handed it over to him.

_Taking some time off. Will be in touch. Plz don't call._

"Damn it!"

He handed the phone back, suppressing the urge to heave it through the nearest window. "This is all you've heard?" he asked, aware of the tension in his voice but unable to do anything about it. "She didn't call? Didn't send any other texts?"

"That's it." Cam closed the folder she'd been working with and added it to a stack of others in her outbox. "You're worried about her."

"Damn right I am."

"Seeley …" Leaning back in her chair, Cam folded her arms across her chest. "Maybe she just needs to get her head straight. Give her some time. She'll be back."

He handed her the slip of paper Angela had given him and waited while she read through it.

"Where did you get this?" she asked, looking up.

"Angela. Apparently this guy followed Bones all over the country." He watched her expression darken as the implication sank in. "Still think I'm overreacting?"

"Why didn't Dr. Brennan tell you about this herself?"

"Apparently Bones thought he was harmless."

"Maybe he was. Fans can be pretty obsessive without being dangerous." Cam glanced at her watch. "It hasn't even been twenty-four hours, yet."

"So what, I'm just supposed to sit back and wait?" This was Bones they were talking about. If she was in trouble he wasn't going to wait another second to start looking for her, much less another twelve hours.

"I didn't say that." She gave him back the paper. "By all means, make some calls, see what you can find out. But I wouldn't take it to Hacker until you're sure."

Hacker. The man had stepped back graciously enough when Bones had broken up with him, but Booth still wasn't entirely sure his boss had gotten over her. How would he react when Booth told him Bones was missing?

"It _is_ possible that Dr. Brennan was right about this Chuck person," Cam said when he didn't respond. "She's done other book tours. Maybe she knows this guy from before."

"And maybe he abducted her." The mere thought of it sent clammy fear arcing up his spine.

"And maybe …" Cam watched him as she repeated her point. "Maybe what she said in her message was true, and she just wanted some time alone. Did you talk to her last night?"

"I sent her a text after I left Founding Fathers." Cam didn't need to know the details. Those were between him and Bones. "She never replied."

Cam said nothing for several seconds. Finally she sighed.

"I don't know, Seeley. Maybe there is something wrong. But if there isn't, and you waste FBI resources looking for her ...?" She shook her head. "It could end your career."

"I don't give a rat's ass about my career." Booth put his palms flat on her desk. Leaned in. "We're talking about Bones, Camille. If anything happens to her ..." He shook his head as his throat closed over the rest of the sentence.

Cam studied him for a second, then nodded.

"Go," she said. "I'll put in a word with your boss. Maybe it'll help."

"Thanks." He spun away, already on the move again.

"And Booth?"

Already at the door, he paused and looked back.

"Good luck."

He didn't need luck.

What he needed was Bones.

*x*x*x*x*

Booth pulled the car door closed behind him, then reached for his seatbelt with one hand while dialing Todd's number with the other.

"Richardson."

"Todd. This is Seeley Booth."

There was a brief silence, and when Todd spoke again, his tone was icily formal. "How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Bo- for Temperance," Booth said, catching himself on the nickname. "Have you heard from her since last night's signing?"

"Just a text message around midnight."

Booth's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "What did the message say?"

"That's confidential information." Professional. Distant. With a hint of something else Booth couldn't quite name.

"Taking some time off," Booth recited. Experience kept his tone bland, but his grip on the steering wheel was tight enough to whiten his knuckles. "Will be in touch. Please don't call."

"What the hell ...?" Todd's voice was thick with suspicion. "How did you know that?"

_Damn it._ Booth fought for control. For calm. But his insides had turned to jelly. "Did she use chat speak?"

"Yes, but just one word."

"Please, right?"

"That's right." The concern in Todd's voice didn't even come close to what Booth was feeling. "What the hell is going on, Agent Booth?"

"I haven't been able to reach her," Booth explained. "She isn't answering her cell, and according to the hotel she checked out late last night. Did she say anything to you before she left the signing?"

"No. She seemed tired, so the manager called her a cab, and I sent her back to the hotel early. We were going to meet for lunch this afternoon, but when I got her text I assumed she'd changed her plans."

"I need the store manager's name and the name of the cab company."

"I don't know which taxi service it was, but give me a sec. I can get you the manager's name."

Booth got out his notebook and flipped to a blank page, then readied his pen.

"Got it," Todd said, coming back on the line.

Booth jotted down the information. "Thanks," he said. "Hey, Todd? Do you know anything about some guy who was shadowing Bones on the tour? Chuck something or other?"

"Stevens, yeah. What about him?"

Booth noted the last name. Circled it twice. "What can you tell me about him?"

"Nice guy," Todd said. "Good old boy type. Lives somewhere near D.C., I think. Why?"

"Didn't it bother you that he turned up at every stop?"

Todd laughed. "God, no. Chuck doesn't even twitch the needle on the scale of strange things obsessed fans do. He just really likes Temperance's books."

Which didn't mean a damned thing. Booth had encountered plenty of serial killers in his time who'd seemed perfectly normal right up until somebody put them under a microscope. He keyed the ignition, bringing the SUV's engine to life with a roar.

"I need you to do me a favor." Booth threw the car into gear and backed out of the parking space, phone still pressed to his ear.

"Name it."

"Stop by The Palmer House. See if Temperance left anything behind when she checked out. Call me back at this number and let me know what you find."

"I'll go right now," Todd said.

"Thanks."

Booth disconnected the phone and dropped it on the seat beside him as he pulled into traffic.

*x*x*x*x*

It was time to talk to Hacker.

After stopping by his office to check his email and phone messages in the vain hope that maybe there'd be news from Bones, Booth put in a call to Hacker's admin and requested an immediate appointment. He was lucky. Hacker was both in and available. In seconds Booth was on his way to the elevator. Once inside he adjusted his tie and straightened his jacket. He was taking a chance going straight to Hacker, bypassing his SIC and risking a reprimand in the process. But if he was going to get his ass chewed, he would at least look good doing it.

Hacker looked up from his computer at Booth's entrance. "Agent Booth. What a pleasant surprise." He waved Booth inside. "What can I do for you?"

Booth forced himself to speak in measured, even tones. "Bones is missing."

Hacker gestured to a chair, eyebrows raised. "What do you mean, missing? Has somebody filed a report?"

"Not yet." Booth would have preferred to remain standing, but he sat anyway. No sense pissing Hacker off if he could avoid it.

"Isn't she on one of her book tours?"

Booth nodded. "Chicago was her last stop. That was last night. Nobody I've talked to so far has seen her since she left the event."

"The message she sent me said she was taking some time off and that she'd be in touch." Hacker's brow furrowed. "Didn't she tell you?"

"She sent you a text?" Dread had Booth leaning forward in his chair. It seemed like everybody he talked to said something that ratcheted his fears higher. "When?"

Hacker reached in his pocket, came up with a cell phone. "Just before one. I didn't get it until this morning, but I thought it was considerate of her to let me know." He punched a series of keys, then gave Booth a curious glance. "It does seem odd that she wouldn't have discussed her plans with you, though."

"Can I see the message?" Despite his determination to stay calm, Booth heard the tension in his own voice.

Hacker's gaze sharpened as he handed over the phone. "What's going on, Agent Booth?"

It was the same message. Word for word. Letter for letter. Booth handed the phone back, punched up his own copy of the text and handed that over, too. Hacker glanced down. Shrugged.

"I'm afraid I don't see the problem. Frankly, I'm relieved she's taking some time off. Her work ethic makes the rest of us look like bums."

Booth dropped his cell phone back in his pocket. Jaw tight he took in a steadying breath. "She sent identical messages to Camille Saroyan and Angela Montenegro."

"Of course she contacted them. Dr. Saroyan is her boss, and Angela is her best friend." Hacker tilted his head, studying Booth. "What makes you so sure something is wrong?"

"Bones wouldn't send Angela the same message she sent to Cam," Booth said, "But there's also this." He fished Angela's description out of his pocket and handed it over. "This man has appeared at every one of Bones's signings," he said. "Don't you find that a little bit odd?"

Hacker scanned the paper, then shook his head with a wry grin. "You haven't had much experience with fannish types, have you, Agent Booth." He handed it back. "Did Temperance seem worried or uneasy when you saw her last week?"

Booth shook his head. "No," he admitted. "She seemed fine." Better than fine, in fact, but he wasn't going to go there.

Folding his arms, Hacker leaned back in his chair, his expression a combination of amusement and exasperation. "You two had a spat, didn't you. A little lovers' quarrel?" He shook an admonishing finger. "I warned you to keep your personal life out of the office if you wanted to continue working together."

"We didn't argue." It was a bold-faced lie, but Booth was willing to risk it if that was what it took to get clearance for an investigation.

Hacker leaned forward in his chair, eyes narrowed as he stared hard at Booth. The technique was a familiar one, designed to expose a lie, and Booth returned the look without flinching. Several seconds passed before Hacker broke the stalemate, his gaze flickering to his computer screen and then back again.

"Temperance is pregnant," he said, with an indulgent smirk that made Booth grit his teeth. "Pregnant women can be unpredictable. Give her time. She'll be back."

Maybe she did want some time to herself, but if that were the case she would have picked up the phone and told him so instead of sending him the same damn text message she sent to four other people. No. Something was wrong. He was sure of it. If Hacker turned down his request he would quit. He _was_ going after her. No matter the cost.

"I'm sure she just wanted to be alone for a while," Hacker said again. "She said she'd be in touch, and I for one believe her." He held up a hand, forestalling Booth's argument. "You two aren't married. You aren't even living together. She isn't under any obligation to inform you of her whereabouts."

"Sir. Please. Just let me look into it. I'll take personal time if I have to." If Hacker said no, resignation was the next step, but Booth hoped it wouldn't come to that. It would be a hell of a lot easier to find Bones if he had the FBI's backing.

Hacker folded his arms on the desk and laced his fingers together. "You're really worried."

Understatements 101. Booth bit the inside of his cheek rather than make a smart-ass remark. "Yes. I am."

"What the hell is this?" Caroline's voice preceded her as she sailed into the room. She waved her cellphone at them. "Taking some time off, my ass! Dr. Brennan's already been gone a month. How much time does she need? We got dead people taking numbers out there." She turned on Booth, and he sank reflexively back into his chair as she wagged an admonishing finger at him. "You better have a chat with that girlfriend of yours, Agent Booth. Bein' pregnant ain't no call for her to be gettin' all flighty-like."

Booth flicked a glance at Hacker before returning his attention to Caroline. "She contacted you?"

"Hell yes, she contacted me. What do you think?"

"Can I-" He swallowed, certain he already knew the response to his next question. "What, exactly, did she say?"

She stared at him, eyebrow raised, then handed over her phone without a word. Booth checked the message and felt a muscle flex in his jaw. He passed the phone to Hacker, who scanned the screen, shook his head, and returned the phone to Caroline.

Caroline tucked it into her pocket, then eyed them, hands on her hips. "All right, you two. What aren't you telling me?"

"Bones is missing," Booth said. "Nobody's seen her since last night, and so far five other people have gotten the same message you did."

"You're pulling my leg." Caroline looked from him to Hacker and back again, her voice taking on a note of warning. "You _better_ be pulling my leg, Agent Booth."

Booth shook his head. He wished he were.

"Then what the hell are you doing sittin' here?" Caroline's eyes shot daggers at him and Hacker by turns. "You should be out looking for her! You're FBI agents, for cryin' out loud. Isn't finding people what you do best?"

"All right!" Hacker threw up his hands. "I give up." He pointed at Booth. "You've got forty-eight hours to either find Dr. Brennan or find evidence that something's happened to her."

Booth sprang to his feet. "I'd like a junior agent to assist me," he said, taking advantage of Caroline's frowning expectation while he still could. "Give me Genny Shaw."

"Shaw." Hacker looked up from the folder he'd just opened. "Why?"

Booth shrugged. "She was helpful on the Broadsky case. I'd like to see what she can do with a little more leeway."

Hacker pursed his lips. Booth waited. Caroline glared. Finally, Hacker nodded. "All right, then. Tell SIC Broussard to give me a call if he has any questions."

"Yes, sir. I will."

*x*x*x*x*

Genny sighed, closed the folder, and added it to the stack in her outbox. She hated reviewing interview transcripts-listening to the recordings, checking them against the digital text, making corrections … It was scut work. Sure it was important, and she was meticulous about it. She did have her pride, after all. But she hadn't joined the FBI to do scut work. She'd joined for the same reason most people joined. Justice. Adventure. Prestige. She hadn't joined so that she could sit in a cubicle and listen to dry-as-sawdust interrogations all day.

She started to open the next folder, then stopped when a large male hand landed in the middle of it, holding it closed. Annoyed, she looked up, then jumped to her feet.

"Agent Booth! Sir! I'm sorry. I didn't see you there."

"Relax, Agent Shaw." He picked up the folder, glanced through it, made a face. "They have you reviewing transcripts?"

"Yes, sir." If he'd been one of her fellow junior agents, she might have rolled her eyes.

He slapped the folder on top of the others, hefted the entire pile, and dropped it on Agent Young's desk in the next cubicle.

"Not anymore," he said, while she contemplated Sebastian's reaction when he discovered that his workload had doubled while he'd been in the restroom. "Follow me."

He strode off without waiting for her, and she scrambled to catch up, trying to look dignified and professional as she scurried across the bullpen in his wake. He led the way into his office, pointed her to a chair, and closed the door. Then he crossed the room and leaned his hip against the desk. Arms folded across his chest, he studied her with narrowed gaze.

Genny straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and waited. She was the youngest of five, and the only girl, in a family that prized competition. Male intimidation tactics were wasted on her. Or at least that was what she told herself while her insides quivered like one of her mother's molded jello salads, and her palms grew clammy with nervous sweat.

Booth reached behind him and picked up a piece of paper. He extended it toward her. She took it reflexively, biting back the question that rose to her lips.

"It's a travel itinerary," she said after she'd scanned it. "For Dr. Brennan. I don't understand." She knew who Dr. Brennan was, of course, had even met her once or twice.

"She's missing." Agent Booth's tone was flat, but there was fire in his eyes, and behind it something else, something that looked very much like fear. "I want you to help me find her."

A case. A real, live, honest-to-God case. Excitement made her heart pound, but she locked down her enthusiasm. This 'real case' involved Agent Booth's partner. She needed to focus. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the small notebook and pen she always carried.

"Has there been a ransom demand?" she asked, and saw a hint of approval in his eyes.

"No."

"Any contact from the victim?" She barely paused when he winced at the term. "Text message? Email? Phone call?"

"One text message. Sent between midnight and one AM to at least six different people."

"Contents?" She scribbled fast, not looking up.

"Taking some time off. Will be in touch. Please don't call." He might as well have been reading the instructions on a package of spaghetti for all the emotion in his voice. "Each recipient got the same message."

She glanced up. But before she could say anything, Agent Booth's jaw firmed.

"Yes. She's really missing, so let's skip that part, okay?"

Booth's cell phone rang, and he snatched it out of his pocket, gesturing to her to wait as he lifted it to his ear.

"Agent Booth," he said. Then- "Todd. Hi. Thanks for getting back to me."

Genny glanced down at the itinerary. Todd Richardson. Dr. Brennan's publicist. Her finger found the name, brushed across the contact information. She looked back up. Agent Booth was listening intently to whatever Mr. Richardson was saying.

"Okay," he said. "See if they'll let you pull the vase from lost and found. She's been saving those. If they give you any grief, have them call me. Anything else?" A pause, then, "You checked under the furniture, too?" He tucked the phone against his neck and reached for a notepad and pen. "Yes, I'll wait." He jotted something down, glanced up at her. Then he stiffened, his mouth drawing down in a tight, hard, frown. "Yeah," he said. "That's hers, too. Drop it in an envelope and send it to me here, would you?"

He gave the address in clipped, sharp tones. Genny saw his gaze drop to a photograph on his desk. She couldn't see the picture, but she knew it was one of his son. The name, Parker, came to her after a few seconds' thought. Cute kid.

"One more thing," he said. "Did you take any pictures besides the one you sent me?" Something eased in his expression as he listened to the response. "That's what I'm thinking, too. If you could send them on, I'll have a forensics team go over them." He made a note. Circled it. "Thank you, Todd. For everything. I appreciate it." Leaning over, he dropped the pad and pen on his desk, then straightened again. "I'm worried, too," he said grimly. "But I'll find her. I promise you that." He glanced at his watch. "Give me a call if you think of anything else, all right?"

He thanked Mr. Richardson once more and ended the call. Then he rounded the desk and dropped into his chair while Genny tried hard to pretend she hadn't just eavesdropped on the entire conversation.

"That was Todd Richardson, Dr. Brennan's publicist," he said, watching her. "He's still in Chicago, so I asked him to check out her hotel room."

Genny glanced down at the itinerary once more, drawing a sharp double line under the hotel's name. "Did he find anything?"

Agent Booth nodded, jaw tight. "I had some daffodils delivered at each hotel along Dr. Brennan's tour route," he said. His expression dared her to comment on the sentimentality of that. She said nothing. "When I saw her in California she told me she'd been saving the vases." He swallowed, his gaze going to the window. "She wouldn't have left one behind."

Genny wrote that down, not because she thought she might forget, but to give him a chance to pull himself together. When she looked up again he was still staring out the window.

Her heart ached for him. She'd heard the gossip about him and Dr. Brennan, of course, but she'd taken it with a grain of salt. Office rumors were like a game of telephone anyway, rarely more than a little bit true. Seeing him like this, though, with worry coming off him in waves even her emotionally oblivious little brother would've noticed, made her think that maybe the rumor mill wasn't so far off base this time.

"What would you like me to do, sir?"

He started at her voice, his gaze snapping back to her as if he'd forgotten she was there.

"I've got a lead I need to follow up on," he said. "After that, I'll take Chicago. I want you to work backwards from there. Contact everybody along the line-hotels, bookstores, train stations, car rental agencies-anybody she might have had contact with. See if anything jumps out at you."

"Yes, sir." She was on her feet, lists flashing through her mind.

"Agent Shaw."

"Sir?" She looked across, saw the worry in his eyes.

"We need to work fast on this one. Anybody tries to pull you off for a different project, you send them to me."

"Yes, sir."

As she left the room, Agent Booth was reaching for the phone on his desk.

*x*x*x*x*

Chuck set the six-pack of beer and his bag of groceries on the hall table while he dug in his pocket for the apartment key. He was fitting it into the lock when he sensed a looming presence behind him. Acting on instinct, he dropped and and spun, putting his back to the door and closing his hands into tight fists, ready to strike.

He came up facing a tall, lean man with fire in his eyes and a badge in his hand.

"FBI," the man said. Something about his stance made Chuck think of a starving mountain lion eying its next meal. "Special Agent Seeley Booth."

Shit. F.B.I.

And he'd been warned about Booth.

Chuck opened his hands, palm up, and dropped back against the door, forcing himself to relax.

"I did my time," he said. "I'm a model citizen now. Got me a steady job-" He rapped his knuckles against the door at his back., "-my own place …" Folding his arms across his chest, he lifted his chin. "What does the F.B.I. want with me?"

"The F.B.I.-" Agent Booth said as he pushed deeper into Chuck's personal space, "-wants to know why you spent the last month following Temperance Brennan all over the country."

Cops were all alike. Once a guy had a record there was no such thing as innocent until proven guilty. Chuck had done his nickel, kept his nose clean during and since, and now the feds wanted to yank his chain. It pissed him off. And if he put so much as a toe out of line, Mr. High-and-Mighty here would probably find an excuse to haul him in. Much as it galled him to play the patsy, he knew that the best thing to do was to act harmless and not too bright. With that in mind he dropped his shoulders, widened his stance, and adopted a self-deprecating smile, topping it all off with a casual shrug.

"I like her books," he said, reverting to the stronger southern twang that had served him so well before. "There's no crime in that, is there?" He noted the tightness of Agent Booth's jaw, the dark shadows under his eyes. This was personal. He'd known that from the moment the man had identified himself, but apparently his employer had left out certain relevant information. No surprise there, really. Still, it might've been nice to know.

"No crime in liking them, that is," he said with a light chuckle calculated to ease the tension. "Plenty of crime in the books, though." He shook his head, still smiling. "Them tales she tells are fine as frog's hair."

Agent Booth's expression didn't change. He glanced up and down the hallway. "We can talk about this out here," he said, in a quietly menacing voice, "and risk your neighbors finding out that the cops are on your case-" He tilted his chin toward the still closed door. "Or we can talk in your apartment." Hands on his hips, Agent Booth rocked back on his heels. "Your choice."

_Some choice_. "Where are my manners?" Chuck said, ladling on the charm the way his Ma used to ladle gravy onto grits. "Please, do come in." He reached over, snagged the grocery sack and beer, and used his other hand to open the door. " Why don't you sit on down?" he said, leading the way inside. "Make yerself t'home. I'll be back in a trice."

When Chuck came back from the kitchen, Agent Booth was surveying the living room. Chuck watched him take in the chain store furniture, the piles of books, the small TV. He leaned a shoulder against the wall and waited.

"How does a guy who lives like this-" Agent Booth waved an arm, taking in the modest apartment in one wide sweep. "-afford to follow somebody all over the country just to get autographs?"

"That's easy." Chuck dropped into his favorite chair. It creaked a complaint, a familiar sound that he ignored as he propped his feet on the coffee table. "I didn't."

Agent Booth took a threatening step in his direction, and Chuck threw up his hands. "Relax," he said. Geez, the guy was jumpier than a cat on a hot tin roof. "I was jus' doin' a favor for a friend."

"A friend." Agent Booth repeated, clearly impatient. "I want a name."

The man was seriously wired, his hand hovering near his gun in a way that made Chuck more than a little uneasy. Problem was, he'd made a promise, and Chuck didn't like to break his promises.

He crossed his arms. "I ain't no snitch, Agent Booth."

Before he could take a breath Booth's hand was around his throat, and Chuck felt his head slam against the back of the chair.

"The name," Booth snarled. "_Now_."

Chuck reached up, caught Agent Booth's little finger, twisted hard, and watched in satisfaction as Booth let go with a sharp curse.

"I gave my word," Chuck said, unmoved by his opponent's snarl. "You want me to break that, you better have a damned good reason."

Agent Booth took a half step back and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Temperance Brennan is missing," he said tersely. "And right now you're my prime suspect. Is that a good enough reason?"

_Oh._ Chuck blew out a breath. _This was bad. This was very bad. _He considered his options, but it was a short list.

"Max Keenan," he said, and watched the name register in Agent Booth's eyes along with a new flare of irritation.

"Max Keenan _paid_ you to stalk his daughter."

"Not stalk," Chuck corrected, easing off the accent. "He just asked me to keep an eye on his kid." If she really was missing, he should probably get out of town for a while. Keenan wasn't going to be happy when he found out. "And he paid my expenses. That's all." Chuck lifted his hands, a supplicant begging forgiveness. "Look, I owed him a favor. Besides-" He reached over, picked up a book from the table next to his chair, and waved it at Booth. "I love Dr. Brennan's stuff. So free travel? Autographed copies? Hell, I thought I'd won the lottery."

Booth shook his head. "I can't believe he didn't tell me."

Chuck knew that look. He'd seen it on other people who'd had dealings with Max Keenan.

"Yeah, well that's Max for ya'," he said sympathetically. "He ain't big on tellin' other people his business."

"Right." Booth looked irritated all over again, but at least this time his ire was directed at someone else. "So _…_ what? Were you on the train with her, too? The hotels?"

"Nah. Max said his girl was too smart for that. Said if she saw me anyplace other'n the signings she'd figure out somethin' was up." He grinned. "He said she'd spit fire if'n she found out he was having her followed, so I'd better be damned sure I didn't get caught." The memory still tickled Chuck's funny bone. He'd never known Max to be cowed by anybody.

"Did you see anything suspicious along the way?" Agent Booth asked. "Anybody who seemed a little too interested in Dr. Brennan?"

"Well, I …" Chuck scratched his head. "No, I can't say as I did. In fact when I got back I thanked Max for the vacation and told him I thought he ought'ta relax about his little girl. I mean, she's a grown woman, right? She don't need a babysitter." His gaze collided with Booth's. "Then again," he coughed, "maybe she does."

Agent Booth didn't respond to that. Instead he got to his feet and pulled a business card out of his wallet.

"Call me if you think of anything else," he said. "And stay close in case I need to talk to you again."

Chuck snorted. "Look around you," he said, gesturing at the modest apartment. "I'm not exactly what you'd call an international playboy."

Unimpressed, Booth crossed to the door. "I'll be in touch," he said.

Chuck waved a hand in acknowledgement. "I'll be here," he said.

He stayed where he was for a long time after the click of the latch indicated Agent Booth's departure. Max had asked him to watch over Temperance's book signings, and he'd done that, keeping a sharp eye on the girl at every stop but that last one. He hadn't seen a thing. Max might take that to mean he hadn't been paying attention, but Chuck had another theory. Maybe whatever had happened to her didn't have anything to do with the tour.

Max Keenan had helped him out of more than one scrape without asking for anything in return. Now his daughter was missing, and Keenan's kids meant more to him than anything else in the world. Hell, it was a well-known fact that Max had killed, maybe more than once, to keep them safe. The least Chuck could do was call in a favor or two of his own.

With that in mind he got to his feet, and after a quick stop in the kitchen for a cold beer, grabbed his laptop and settled back down in his chair.

He had some emails to write.

*x*x*x*x*

It was league night, so Booth headed over to the bowling alley to look for Max, still seething over the time he'd wasted tracking down Chuck. As he'd expected, he found Max ensconced with his buddies, downing beer, gossiping, and ragging on the other teams. He strode over, pulling up between Max and the alleys and ignoring the protests from the other players.

"I need to talk to you," he said, and watched Max's eyebrows wing up at his tone. "Alone."

"Now?" Max asked. "I'm in the middle of a game, here."

"Yes, now." Booth waited impatiently until Max excused himself and got to his feet, then led the way to the snack bar and gestured Max toward an empty chair.

"Why didn't you tell me about Chuck Stevens?" he asked, and saw Max's face go carefully blank as he sat back in his chair and laced his fingers across his stomach.

"I'm sorry. What was that name again?"

Booth felt a muscle clench in his jaw. "Chuck Stevens," he repeated. "The man you hired to track Bones during her tour."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Max cast a genial smile and a wave toward a fellow bowler before meeting Booth's eyes once more. "I think this impending fatherhood thing is messing with your head, Booth."

"Don't be an ass." Booth didn't have the patience for games right now. "Bones is missing."

Max's head snapped up, his eyes flashing as he stiffened. "What do you mean, missing?"

"Exactly what I said."

"But I got a text message from her just the other night."

"Let me guess," Booth said. "She said she was taking some time off, that she'd be in touch, and not to call."

Max's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"

"Because she sent the same damned message to everybody on her contact list." There was a crash of falling pins behind them, followed by a cheer. Neither man turned to look. "And I've wasted most of the last two days tracking down a suspect who turned out to be your hired goon."

"Chuck wouldn't touch a hair on Tempe's head," Max said dismissively. "He knows I'd kill him if he did."

Booth leaned forward. "You should've told me, Max."

"And risked having you tell Tempe?" Max shook his head. "No way."

Reluctant amusement tugged at the corners of Booth's mouth. "What's wrong, Max? Afraid of your own daughter?"

"Damn straight I am. And you should be, too, if you know what's good for you." The answering humor in Max's eyes faded as quickly as it had come. "What makes you think she's missing?"

"Bones wouldn't just disappear," Booth said, sobering. "That's your MO."

"Ouch. That's a little harsh, don't you think?"

Ignoring him, Booth ticked off the evidence on his fingers. "She checked out of her hotel early, she skipped out on a lunch date with her publicist, she isn't answering her cell phone or returning messages, and nobody's seen her-not ticket agents or hotel clerks or even the hospitals-since the night she checked out."

"You called the hospitals?" Max's voice rose on the last word.

"Of course I checked the hospitals. It's standard procedure." Booth didn't add that every time he'd punched in the number for another one he'd done so with his heart in his throat, terrified of what he might learn. But in the end, learning nothing at all had been even worse. "And I could've done that a lot faster if I hadn't had to take time out to figure out who the hell Chuck was."

"Look, I'm sorry, all right?" Max's gaze sharpened as he went on the offensive. "But frankly, I shouldn't have had to use Chuck at all."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you should've been with her," Max said, every inch the protective father. "She's pregnant, for God's sake. What were you thinking, letting her go off alone like that?"

"Right." Booth sat back again, arms folded across his chest as he eyed Max across the table. "Like I could have stopped her." Not that he hadn't tried, of course, but Max didn't need to know the details of that particular conversation.

"Maybe not, but you could've been there for her, kept an eye on things yourself."

Booth stiffened. "I would have if I could have," he said tersely. "But I'm a working stiff, just like you are. I couldn't take that much time off. Speaking of which-" He studied the man across from him, noting the ten-dollar haircut and cheap, polyester bowling shirt. "-You aren't exactly rolling in dough yourself. Where'd you get the money to pay Chuck's expenses?"

Max wagged a finger at him. "That's none of your business," he said. "And stop trying to change the subject. You're my daughter's partner-or whatever the hell the two of you are calling it now. You're supposed to protect her."

"Yeah, well that'd be a hell of a lot easier to do if you didn't keep getting in my way."

"Hey, somebody's gotta look after my girl." Anger rose in Max's voice. "You got her pregnant. If you aren't going to make an honest woman out of her it seems like the least you could do would be to keep her and that baby safe."

In a flash, Booth was on his feet. He grabbed a handful of bowling shirt. Twisted. Pushed. And had the satisfaction of watching Max's eyes widen as his head slammed back.

He leaned in. "Bones is my life," he ground out. "I would do anything. _Anything_. To protect her." He eased his grip a little and straightened up. "And our relationship is our concern. Not yours."

"Sure it is." Max pushed his hand away and tugged his shirt back into place. "It just seems to me," he said calmly, "that if you really loved her you'd take better care of her."

"Right." Booth dropped his hands to his sides, but he didn't relax his stance. "The way you took care of Christine."

Pain flared in Max's eyes, and Booth felt a rush of remorse. "Look, I'm sorry," he said. "That was out of line." He pushed a hand through his hair. "I'm not thinking clearly right now."

Max raised his hands, palms forward, and shook his head. "No," he said. "You're right. I screwed up." He got to his feet, and for the first time Booth thought he looked old. "Don't let what happened to my wife happen to my daughter," he said. "Find her, Booth." He rested a heavy hand on Booth's shoulder. "Find my little girl."

Booth watched him walk away, watched the slope of his shoulders and the unfamiliar droop of his head.

"I will," he said quietly. "I'll bring her home, Max." He watched the other man's slow progress back to his team. "Bank on it."


	7. Chapter 7

Booth was in his office before dawn the next day, having gone home just long enough to grab a couple of hours of restless sleep, a shower, and a change of clothes. After firing off an email to Hacker to plead for more time, he sent updates to both Caroline and Cam. Then he opened his photo viewing software and started going through Todd's pictures again.

More than seventy-two hours had passed with no word from Bones, and every additional minute made it less likely that he would find her. He knew that. He also knew he had to concentrate on the positives. Her passport hadn't been used at any border crossings, she hadn't turned up at any hospitals, and her name hadn't appeared on any police blotters. That was the good news.

But she also hadn't used her credit cards or her phone, and she wasn't answering her email.

And his only lead in the case had turned out to be a dead end.

Agent Shaw was still making calls, but for now Booth was reduced to sifting through book-tour pictures and hoping that something would jump out at him.

He reached for his coffee and took a gulp without thinking, then cursed when the scalding liquid burned his tongue. The ring of the phone, unnaturally loud in the silence of the empty building, made him jump, sending more coffee sloshing over the rim of his cup and onto his hand. He snatched up the handset with one hand and reached for a napkin with the other.

"Booth," he snapped, tucking the phone into the crook of his neck while he swiped at the mess and glared at the spreading stain on his last clean shirt.

"Hi, it's … it's Angela." She sounded taken aback, and Booth wanted to curse again, but at himself this time. She didn't deserve to bear the brunt of his bad mood.

"Yeah, Ange. Sorry. Spilled my coffee." He dropped the damp napkin in the trash, his eyes going to the blue-gray light outside his office window. "You're up early."

"Michael was hungry," she said, by way of explanation. "I assumed you'd be at work, so I thought I'd give you a call."

"I see." He leaned back in his chair, eyes on his monitor. "What can I do for you?"

"Have you heard anything new?" She didn't elaborate. She didn't have to.

"You know I would have called you if I had." He consciously gentled his voice, forcing back his own impatience in deference to hers.

"Do you think she's okay?" Controlled fear lurked beneath her words. She wasn't just worried anymore. Hell, they'd both careened past worried a long time ago. Booth let out a long, slow breath.

"I have to believe she is," he said. A click of his mouse sent a blurry image of an elderly couple off to the left while a businesswoman slid in from the right. "Try to be patient, Angela. These things take time." The advice sounded weak, probably because the needle on his own patience gauge had registered empty for days.

"We're still making calls," he said, "and we haven't finished going through these pictures yet. Something will turn up."

"Can I help?" she asked. "I'll do anything, Booth. Anything at all. I just can't stand this waiting."

He started to turn her down, then reconsidered. Maybe there was something.

"Do you have time to go through some pictures for us?" he asked. She was still an exhausted new mother, but Angela had the sharpest eyes of anybody he knew. If there was anything to be found in the photographic evidence, she'd be the one to spot it.

The eager relief in her voice was almost palpable. "I'd be happy to," she said. "Send me the files and I'll get started right away."

A movement at his door snagged his attention, and he looked up to see Agent Shaw. She wore an anxious, restless look on her face that told him she needed to talk, and she tapped one finger against the edge of the notepad she held in her hand. He waved her inside.

"I'll send the files now," he said to Angela. "There are a lot of pictures here. Bones's publicist is a real shutterbug. I'll also send the security footage we've gotten from the bookstores." When they'd learned that one of their best-selling authors was missing, the managers had been eager to help.

"Good deal. And Booth?"

"Yeah?" He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing exhaustion away.

"Thanks."

Doing something, no matter how trivial, was always better than just waiting. "You're welcome."

He ended the call and turned his attention to Shaw, who was standing in front of his desk looking decidedly uneasy.

"What've you got?"

"I don't know, sir. Maybe nothing."

He couldn't get a read on her. She seemed both thrilled and pissed about whatever she had discovered. "Don't just stand there," he prodded. "Spit it out."

Instead of answering she handed over the legal pad she'd brought in with her, keeping back a separate manila folder.

He raised his eyebrows at her as he took it. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

She shook her head slowly. "I think you'd better read it for yourself."

He leaned back in his chair and skimmed through her neatly written notes. Then, in growing dismay, he read them again. Two words stood out against the pale yellow paper, words that made a sickening combination of rage and fear coil in his gut.

"You're sure about all this?" he asked her, clamping down hard on the wrenching emotions that threatened to spin him out of control.

"Yes, sir. I've double checked everything twice." She handed over the folder.

He heard Bones's voice in his head. _Double-checked twice? Does that mean she checked it four times?_ But he kept the thought to himself as he flipped through the contents of the folder. First the rap sheet with the details of the sexual assault charge. Then the mug shot. Booth studied the photograph. Six two by the scale on the wall. Pale skin. Goatee. Narrow-set eyes and thin lips. Don Woods wasn't quite ugly, but he was no Prince Charming, either.

"The charges were dropped, but _…_"

"Dropped charges aren't the same thing as false charges," Booth acknowledged, without looking up. "He's in Atlanta?"

"Yes, sir. I've listed his current address on the third page. There's a sat photo of the home tacked behind it."

Booth flipped over and checked the address, then looked at the picture. Small house. Single story. What looked like a one car garage. There was a big magnolia tree in the front yard.

"He lives alone?" Booth asked, jaw clenched as he continued to study the photograph.

"His name is the only one on the lease."

He looked up. "You didn't contact the landlord?"

"No answer. I left a message, but …" She gave a light shrug.

He nodded his understanding. He didn't know anybody who would be eager to return a call from the F.B.I, and if this particular landlord was at all on the shady side, they could expect a callback about the time hell froze over.

Booth studied the photograph for a few more seconds before turning back to rifle through the rest of the information.

"This is good work, Agent Shaw." He closed the folder. "I'll arrange leave with Hacker." He reached into his pocket, fished out his wallet, and handed her a credit card. "Get us two tickets," he said. "First available flight." It would be hard enough getting Hacker to approve the trip. No way would they be allowed to expense it.

"Two?"

"Yeah. I want you to tag along." He didn't tell her that she might need to restrain him. She'd figure that out soon enough. And God help Woods if he'd laid a hand on Bones.

It was late afternoon by the time their flight landed in Atlanta. With no need to stop at baggage claim Booth led Genny on a beeline through the airport to the car rental agency. He sent up a prayer of gratitude when they arrived to find that nobody was in line ahead of them, and twenty minutes later they were on their way, Genny fiddling with the on-board GPS while Booth threaded the car through rush-hour traffic.

It was always strange having somebody other than Bones in the passenger seat. It wasn't an unusual occurrence, either. He'd partnered with other FBI agents, had even taken Sweets out from time to time. But nobody owned that seat the way Bones did. She belonged there, though she would no doubt argue that point, taunting him with obscure anthropological trivia until he huffed at her and cranked up the radio.

The fact was, he missed her. He missed her logic and her arguments. He missed her social missteps - even the cringe worthy ones. He missed her laugh. He missed the feel of her skin and the way her body moved against his and the sounds she made when he got her to stop thinking for a little while. But most of all he missed seeing that soft look in her eyes, the one that brought a lump to his throat and made his heart hammer in his chest.

He remembered the night he'd told Cam that he and Bones were together. It was a couple of weeks after Michael's birth, and he and Bones had decided that they wouldn't be stealing anybody's thunder by sharing their news with the world. He'd arranged to meet Cam for dinner at a little Italian place a few blocks from the Hoover building. After they placed their orders and had their first sips of wine Cam sat back, folded her arms, and gave him that no-nonsense stare that would have cowed a lesser man but which only made him grin.

"All right, Seeley. Out with it."

"What?" He tried for casual, missed, and reached for his napkin, ducking his head while he settled it across his lap.

"Seeley Joseph Booth. I've known you for a lot of years," She unfolded her own napkin and arranged it on her lap without looking down. "You think I can't tell when you're hiding something from me?"

He studied her, pondering his approach. The way he saw it he had two choices. He could carpet-bomb the news and then sit back and watch the fallout, or he could ease into it, which wouldn't be as much fun, but might be better for Cam's blood pressure.

To hell with it.

"Bones is pregnant," he said, with that same rush of elation and pride he still felt every time he said the words. "We're moving in together as soon as we can find a place."

Cam had been about to take another sip of wine. She hesitated for an instant before draining the glass, then lowered it just enough to eye him warily over its rim.

"What did you just say?"

"Bones is pregnant," he repeated patiently. "We're moving in together."

Cam set her glass down with an audible thud.

"How did that happen?" she asked. He opened his mouth to answer, but she snapped a hand up. "Never mind." With a jerk of her head, she signalled their waiter over for a drink refill.

"You know ..." she said when the waiter had left, "when I said you should follow your heart, this isn't exactly what I had in mind."

"Oh?" He was enjoying this way more than he should, but Cam was always so together. He couldn't resist the chance to throw her off balance. "Maybe you should've been more specific. Ouch!" He reached down and rubbed at his leg. "Really, Camille? You're going to kick me in the shin? Isn't that a little third-grade?"

"I would've kicked you in the ass if you weren't sitting on it," she snapped. She leaned in, her eyes darting fire. "What the hell were you thinking?"

He grinned at her, undaunted. "The way I remember it, we weren't doing much thinking at the time," he said, his body warming at the memory.

Her snort of derision drew curious glances from the next table. Cam ignored them. "I'm serious, Seeley. This is …"

Booth reached over to cover her hand with his. "It's a miracle is what it is," he said quietly.

Her gaze came up, and she studied him hard for a few seconds, her head canted a little to one side. "You're happy about this."

"No," he corrected. "I'm ecstatic." He and Bones may have come at this relationship a little lopsided, but now that they were there, he couldn't be happier.

Cam shook her head. "I knew you were in love with her," she said. "But a baby? Isn't it a little soon?" Their server arrived with their salads, and she waited until he left to continue. "You do know how relationships are supposed to work, don't you? You date for a while, you get engaged, you get married … _Then_ you have a baby."

He hadn't really expected such a traditional view from her. "Bones doesn't do marriage."

She paused with her fork midway between her plate and her mouth, half of a cherry tomato caught neatly in its tines. "No marriage."

"Nope."

"And you're okay with that, good Catholic boy like you?"

He'd have to do his own soul-searching on that one. Cam couldn't do it for him. "Let's just say I'm living with it. For now."

"Uh huh." She popped the tomato into her mouth, watching him while she chewed thoughtfully.

"Look. Cam. There's a lot we haven't sorted out, but here's what I do know." He ticked his points off on his fingers, like he was making a case for the grand jury. "One. I love Bones. I tried not to. I tried to let her go. It didn't work. Crazy as it sounds, I can't imagine not wanting to be a part of her life. Two. Bones is pregnant with my kid, and there's no way that I'm going to be a drive-by dad this time around."

She swallowed, her gaze serious. "Have you talked to Father MacNamarra about this?"

Father Mac was his priest. Eighty years old, with squirrel-tail brows and eyes that could cow a mischievous ten-year-old one minute and soothe the broken heart of a bereaved parishioner the next, Father Mac would definitely have an opinion about Booth's decision. "Not yet."

"You know what he's going to say."

Booth knew. It wasn't a conversation he was looking forward to, either. But he didn't need Cam to remind him of that.

"This isn't about my faith, Cam."

"Isn't it?" she pressed. "As I recall, Father Mac is pretty old-school."

It was true. At the very least Booth would get a lecture about living in sin, but he'd deal with that when the time came. At any rate, it wouldn't change his mind. About anything.

"What about your grandfather?" Cam asked. Apparently she thought she'd made her point about the church. "Does he know yet?"

"No." Booth shook his head. "But he'll be thrilled." It was an understatement. Pops never missed an opportunity to tell Booth what a knucklehead he was for not snapping Bones up years ago.

"You should tell him."

"We're going to see him this weekend." Their server arrived, his arms loaded with plates and a fresh basket of bread. Booth sat back, arms crossed. "Now. Is the inquisition over?"

"One more question and then I promise I'll stop being all big-sister on you," Cam said.

Booth took a forkful of his lasagna, watching the cheese stretch and then break as he lifted it up. He grinned at Cam over the top of the steaming pasta. "And give up the chance to offer advice? No way."

Cam snorted. "Yeah, well, somebody has to keep an eye on you." She speared a bite of chicken carbonara. "Just look at the mess you get yourself into when I'm not around."

He raised an eyebrow at her and then slowly put down his fork. "Let's get one thing straight," he said, leaning in and lowering his voice. "Bones and I are adults, not starry-eyed kids." He saw her wince. Ignored it. "And nothing about our having a baby together is a 'mess'." He picked up his fork again, but he didn't take his eyes off hers. "We've got some problems, yes. But they're _our_ problems, and we're working them out in our own way and our own time. If you're not on board with that you need to let me know now."

She didn't say anything for several long moments. Then she shook her head, and when she spoke, her voice was quiet. "I just don't want to see you get hurt," she said.

"This is what I want, Camille. What I've wanted for a long time. Besides-" He gave a quick, lighthearted shrug, hoping to lighten the moment. "No pain no gain, right?" He cut another bite of lasagna, pausing with it halfway to his mouth. "Now what was that other question?"

She took a sip from her refilled wine glass and dabbed at her lips with her napkin before answering. "I just wondered if the FBI was going to let you two keep working together."

His snort of amusement drew her eyes back to his over her bite of carbonara. "Yeah. Bones told Hacker that if she couldn't continue working with me, she wouldn't consult for the F.B.I anymore. And Hacker knows that if he loses Bones, he loses the Jeffersonian. He didn't put up much of a fight."

"I see." There was a twinkle in Cam's eyes, and he knew she was imagining the scene. Hacker was nearly as intimidated by Bones as he was enamored of her. "He didn't even quibble?"

"Not much, no. He just said to use Sweets as backup when she gets to the point where visiting crime scenes is an issue." He suspected Bones would never decide that on her own, so he'd have to keep a close eye on her. But he'd gotten pretty good at protecting Bones from herself over the years.

"Aha." She nodded in that way she had that meant she'd figured something out, and he eyed her quizzically.

"What?"

"It's the best of both worlds for Hacker, isn't it. He still gets to rely on the Jeffersonian's expertise, but he also has plausible deniability if something goes wrong. I always knew he was a smart bastard."

"Nothing's going to go wrong, Camille."

"I hope not," she said. "I really, really do."

But something _had_ gone wrong. Maybe it wasn't the kind of wrong Cam had been warning him about, but the end result was the same. And the icing on the cake was that in spite of what he'd told Max, he couldn't help a niggling feeling that it was somehow his fault, that if he'd been with her or even talked her out of doing the tour all together, she wouldn't be missing right now.

A light touch on his arm drew his attention back to the present and Agent Shaw. Heat shimmered up from the pavement ahead of them as she pointed. "That's our exit, sir."

Lost in thought, he'd been driving on auto-pilot, barely aware of the heavy traffic. Reprimanding himself as he studied his surroundings, he nodded and made the lane change. He needed to focus. He wasn't any good to Bones if he kept zoning out.

They pulled up in front of the nondescript clapboard house about twenty minutes later and were halfway up the cracked walkway when Booth heard raised voices coming from pulled out his gun, released the safety, and edged up the steps, then nodded at Shaw as she took up a position on the other side of the door. There was a crash from inside the house, a howl of pain, and another crash. Booth pounded on the door.

"F.B.I!" he shouted. "Open up!"

Another crash with no verbal response had Booth yanking open the screen door himself. He swung inside and around the corner, gun raised and braced. Then he froze.

"Max?" _What the hell?_ "What are you doing here?"

Max spun around, chest heaving. "Booth!" he panted. He broke into a wide smile and tucked his hands into his pockets, but not before Booth spied the telltale bloodied knuckles. "Imagine meeting you here."

There were three men in the room, two of whom Booth already knew. After a curt nod in Chuck's direction, Booth tilted his chin toward the man who was struggling to his feet, blood streaming from what looked like a broken nose.

"Don Woods?"

"Got it in one," Max said, clearly unrepentant. "We were just having ourselves a little chat," he said. "Nice of you to join us." He shot a quizzical glance at Booth's companion. "Who's your partner?"

"Agent Genny Shaw," Booth said tersely. He glanced over at her. "You can holster your weapon," he said. "I don't think any of these yahoos are going anywhere."

Shaw eyed the others warily. "Would you like me to call for backup, sir?"

"No need." Booth safetied his own weapon and slid it back into its holster. "This is Max Keenan," he said with a wave of his hand. "And that's Chuck Stevens." There was a grubby kitchen towel on the back of the couch. Booth snagged it and tossed it to Don, watching as the other man dabbed at his nose.

"You're lucky I got here when I did," he said unsympathetically. "Max has a tendency to kill people who threaten his daughter."

Don's eyes went wide as they shifted back to Max, and Booth saw Shaw's gaze sharpen as well when she realized who Max was and the possible ramifications of his presence.

"Now, Booth." Max dropped onto the couch, lifting his feet onto the worn hassock on the floor in front of it. "Don't scare the kid like that. It isn't polite."

"Why are _you_ here?" Booth asked, eying Chuck's neat gray suit and burgundy tie. The man looked more like an insurance agent than the low-grade thug he was. Max and Chuck must have used a door to door salesmen ploy to get inside.

Stevens shrugged. "I'm just along for the ride," he said, that distinctive twang creeping back into his voice as Chuck donned his southern gentleman persona.

"Right." Kicking aside a broken lamp, Booth stepped closer to Don. "F.B.I," he said, flashing his badge for formality's sake. "Special Agent Seeley Booth. Tell me what you know about Dr. Temperance Brennan."

"I know that she's a bitch," Don said, then leapt aside when Booth lunged at him with a snarl of rage.

Booth watched in satisfaction as Don tripped over a rickety coffee table and landed with a whoosh of expelled air in an old easy chair, nearly sending it over backward. There was a snort of amusement from behind him, but Booth didn't turn around, too busy fighting the urge to add an imprint of his own knuckles to Woods's face.

"Better watch yourself, kid," Max said equably. "Agent Booth here is my daughter's boyfriend."

Booth straightened, taking a deep breath and consciously relaxing his fists.

"Sir?" Shaw's glance darted from him to Max. Her hand hovered over her holstered weapon. "Would you prefer I handle this interrogation?"

Booth shook his head. "Just keep an eye on those two clowns," he said. "Max claims he doesn't intend to kill anybody, but don't trust him for a second."

"You wound me, Booth." Max's innocent act was starting to get on Booth's nerves. "Surely you can trust me. After all, I'm practically your father-in-law."

Don shrank back against the ancient chair as if wishing it would swallow him up, but Booth only leaned closer, one hand on each armrest.

"Talk," he growled, pleased when Don cringed.

"I met her on the train." The desperate whine set Booth's teeth on edge. "She was hot, you know?" Don flinched at Booth's glare. "She was alone, and I was alone, and … Hell, how was I supposed to know she had a boyfriend? It isn't like she advertised it."

"You were an Amtrak employee," Booth said, only just managing not to snarl. "I'm sure they have policies against harassing the passengers."

"I didn't harass her," Don protested. "I just sent her a few notes is all. I thought she might want to hook up. You know, have a little fun, alleviate the boredom ..."

There was a sharp movement behind Booth's back, and he glanced up to see Shaw whip her gun back out. Her voice rang with an authority Booth hadn't heard from her before.

"Sit down, sir!"

Booth turned to see Max halfway off the couch. The fury in the older man's eyes matched his own, but Booth was damned if he was going to let that, or Max, get in the way of his investigation. He waited until Max shifted his gaze from Shaw to him, then shook his head slightly.

"Sit down." he said. "I've got this." He waited for Max's reluctant nod before turning back to Don. "Three notes, according to Amtrak," he said. None of which Bones had mentioned to him, but he couldn't think about that right now. "And then you accosted her."

The report Agent Shaw had shown him had been short but succinct. Hell, Bones had probably written it herself.

On the second night of the trip from Seattle to Minneapolis Don had turned up at the door to Bones's sleeper, tried to force his way inside, and when she pushed him out he'd dragged her with him, shoving her against the wall and, as the report put it, touching her inappropriately while making crude suggestions and threatening to hurt her if she didn't comply with his wishes. The mere thought of it made bile rise to the back of Booth's throat.

Bones had handled the situation neatly, though. According to her report she'd turned the tables on Don, slamming him face-first against the window while she yanked his arm up behind him hard enough to tear his rotator cuff. The summary didn't indicate her exact words, but whatever she'd said had ended the altercation, and she'd stepped back into the room, locking the door behind her. Then she'd called an attendant, filed her report, and apparently considered the matter ended. As far as Booth knew she'd never discussed the incident again, not even with Angela, who would have told him about it if she'd known.

"She got me sacked," Don said bitterly. "They cancelled my medical insurance. And my arm's still not right."

Booth wanted to hurt more than Don's arm. He wanted to take the man apart piece by piece. Hell, Max would help.

"Let me up," Max said, as if reading his mind. "I'll be happy to fix that arm for him."

Shaw's voice interrupted Booth's thoughts. "Sir …"

Booth looked up, saw the wary concern in her eyes, the studied grip of her hand on her gun, but she kept her voice too low for the others to hear.

"Don't let him get to you, sir. He isn't worth it."

Booth sighed. "I know." But he was slow to draw back, unwilling to give the slimeball in front of him any more wiggle room than he had to.

Don shot a grateful look at Shaw, and Booth almost grinned when her lip curled and her eyes flashed with disdain as she took a half step back, distancing herself from him.

"What did you do next?" Booth asked, drawing Don's attention back to the subject at hand.

Don glared at him. "What do you think I did? No job means no money. My ma had to send me a ticket so I could get back home. I've been here ever since."

"I don't believe you," Booth ground out. "I think you followed Dr. Brennan to Chicago looking for revenge." The thought of it turned his stomach, and he had to force the words past the sick fear that rose in his throat as he twisted his fist in a handful of Don's bloodied t-shirt with its British rock-band logo.

"What? No! I came straight back here!" Don tried to stand up. Booth shoved him back down. "I can prove it! Ticket stub's in the other room!" His right eye was swollen almost completely shut, but Booth saw the beginnings of panic in the watery depths of the other one. "Why do you care, anyway?"

Max answered the question before Booth could. "Because she's missing, you son-of-a-bitch."

"Mr. Keenan!" The whiplash crack of Shaw's voice snapped Booth's head up and around. "Step back!"

Max was on his feet, fury rolling off of him in waves. Booth was tempted to call Shaw off, leave the house, and pretend he didn't know Max was here. Instead he turned to Chuck.

"He's your responsibility," Booth said. "He brought you down here to keep him from killing this bastard. You'd better do that unless you want to be arrested as an accessory to murder."

"But he said-" Chuck's protest lacked even the faintest hint of authenticity. "He said he just wanted company."

Max nodded and sat back down. "That's right-"

"Bullshit." Booth said, interrupting before Max could start fabricating excuses. "Max Keenan is a sociopath, but he's a brilliant sociopath. He knows what'll happen to him if this jackass turns up dead. He brought you with him to be his guard dog, so be his god damned guard dog already."

Without waiting for Chuck's response Booth spun back to Don and hauled him to his feet. "You'd better hope you can put your hands on that ticket stub in a hurry," he said. "As a federal agent, I have to uphold the law, but Max here doesn't mind bending the rules when it suits him."

Don nodded and scurried out of the room. Booth caught Shaw's eye. "Go with him," he said. "Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

Shaw nodded. Booth waited until she'd gone before turning back to Max and Chuck. "How the hell did you two find out about Don?"

"I know somebody who works for Amtrak," Chuck said. "After you left my place I shot him an email. He did some snooping. Got the lowdown on Don. Told me Woods had gotten fired for sexual misconduct, that some lady had chewed him a new one for making a move on her." Chuck shot Max a questioning glance, and Booth caught the slight head shake in response. There was more to the story, but Booth doubted he'd ever learn the truth. Not from these two, anyway. "I told Max," Chuck went on with a shrug, "and we wound up here."

Booth glared at Max. "I should've known you were putting one over on me at the bowling alley," he said, annoyed with himself. Max wasn't the kind of man who would sit around and wait for Booth to find his daughter.

Don walked back in before Max could answer. He waved a handful of paperwork at the others, a triumphant expression on his face. "See? I told you I had proof." From behind him, Agent Shaw gave Booth a slight nod. She'd examined the ticket and verified its authenticity. Apparently at least that much of Don's alibi checked out.

Booth took the ticket "According to this," he said, scanning it, "you left Minneapolis four days before Dr. Brennan disappeared." He looked up. "Am I supposed to believe that once you got here you stayed put?"

"My ma'll vouch for me," Don protested, looking from Booth to Max and back again. "I haven't left Atlanta since I got back."

"Your ma." Max's icy disdain was sharp as a knife-blade. "I bet you didn't tell her why you lost your job."

"Max …" Booth shot a glance at him. Max's jaw clenched, but he shut up. "Anybody else see you since you've been back?" Booth asked Don. "Clerk at the grocery store? Gas station attendant? Anybody?"

"Nope." Don shook his head. "I been pretty depressed. Ain't left the house in days."

Booth's cellphone rang. He snatched it out of his pocket without taking his eyes off Don. "Booth."

"Booth. It's Angela." She sounded tense. And there was something else in her voice, too. A kind of eager, dog-on-a-scent tone that brought Booth's head up and sharpened his attention.

"Hey, Ange. I'm kind of busy here. What's up?"

"I need you to get back here right away." He heard a faint click. Then another. "I think I might've found something."

Booth's pulse skipped, then raced ahead. "Yeah. Okay. I'll get there as soon as I can."

He ended the call, pocketed his phone, and lifted his head, considering what to do about Don. Woods probably wasn't his man, but Booth wasn't stupid enough to let the guy out of his sight until he was sure. Problem was, the FBI wasn't going to sanction a surveillance detail based on Booth's gut-especially when Booth himself didn't think the guy was worth the effort.

He shifted his gaze to Max and Chuck. The two of them certainly weren't his first choice, but right now they were all he had. "I've got a job for you two."

"Yeah?" Max asked eagerly. "You want me to break one arm or two?"

"None." Though Booth couldn't deny that the idea had merit. "I want you and Chuck to stick around Atlanta for a few days. Keep an eye on our friend here."

"Where are you going to be?" Max asked suspiciously.

"I need to get back to D.C.," Booth said. "I have a couple of leads I need to follow up on, and I don't want Don to disappear while Agent Shaw and I are running them down." He also didn't want Max getting into any more trouble, but he knew better than to say that out loud. "I'll keep you in the loop, but I need you to do this for me." He paused, saw the skepticism in Max's eyes, and pushed just a little bit harder. "I can't concentrate on looking for Bones if this guy isn't under wraps, but I don't have enough evidence to hold him." He glanced at Don, waited for the other man to meet his eyes. "Yet."

When he found Bones he would talk to her about filing formal charges, but he doubted she would agree. She was smart enough to know what her chances were of winning a case like that. Still, the threat of it might be enough to keep Don under control for a few days.

"My little girl is missing," Max said, obviously not happy. "And I'm just supposed to sit around here and wait until you call?"

Booth had expected reluctance. He just hoped it didn't turn into mutiny.

"Yeah, Max. That's exactly what I want you to do." He crossed the room and dropped to a crouch in front of Max. He saw the agony in the other man's eyes. The fear. The worry. They were reflections of his own feelings. "It's what I _need_ you to do right now."

Booth watched Max look over at Chuck. Saw Chuck's faint nod. Max sighed and turned back to Booth.

"Fine," he said. "You've got three days. But if I don't hear from you I'm coming back to D.C."

"Fair enough," Booth said, with a silent prayer that he'd have Bones back long before the three days were over. "Thanks, Max."

Without answering, Max turned to Don. "You got anything to eat in this dump?"

Getting to his feet, Booth caught Shaw's eye. "Let's go," he said, with a glance at his watch. "Flight leaves in two hours."

*x*x*x*x*

Angela studied the monitors carefully. She didn't have much. Four photographs and a few seconds of grainy video. That was it. Still, what she was seeing in the images made her uneasy. She just wasn't sure it was enough to pin an investigation on. She rubbed her eyes, stretched, and glanced at her watch. Hodgins had phoned a few minutes ago to ask when she'd be home, and she'd had to tell him she didn't know. She was waiting for Booth. She wasn't going anywhere until she talked to him.

As if conjured by her thoughts, Booth appeared in her doorway with a dark-haired young woman in tow.

"Agent Genny Shaw," he said, apparently catching her curious glance. "She's been helping me look for Bones."

"Nice to meet you," Angela said, and received a polite nod in return. "Kind of small for an F.B.I. agent, isn't she?" she said to Booth.

He glanced over at Shaw, then back to Angela. "She holds her own." His gaze shifted to the monitors, but Angela caught the flash of quiet pride in Agent Shaw's eyes. "What've you got?" he asked.

"Not much," Angela admitted, "but I think it's worth checking out." She led them over to her work area. "These-" she pointed to the first monitor. She'd split the screen into quadrants, one image per quarter. "-are from the photographs that Brennan's publicist sent."

Only one of the pictures showed the face clearly. A woman. Angela judged her to be about five nine. Her dark eyes and hair, prominent cheekbones, and narrow facial structure were distinctive enough that Angela had noticed her immediately. When the woman had turned up in more than one of Todd's photographs, Angela had tagged the images and started reviewing the store footage again.

"She's in four of the pictures that Todd sent over. Two from Atlanta," she pointed them out on the top two quadrants of her screen, "one from Seattle," bottom left, "and one from Chicago." Bottom right. That one had been harder to spot, as the woman had been only one of many faces in a wide-angle group shot.

Booth shook his head. "Chuck Stevens was at every event, Angela. This is three stops. I need more to go on."

"Okay, then. How about this?" She'd queued up the video before his arrival, and now she reached for her remote. "This is the security video from the Atlanta store," she said. "Watch closely."

She hit the play button, then watched Booth as the feed spooled up on her larger main screen. It showed Brennan talking on her cellphone. There was no audio, but she seemed happy. Relaxed. At one point they saw her laugh.

"She was talking to me," Angela said, her heart aching as she wondered where Brennan was right now and whether she was okay. "She phoned me right after the Atlanta signing."

"I don't understand," Booth said. "Why are you showing me this?"

"Look here." Angela pointed to the bottom corner of the video.

"Right. The woman again. I see that. But we already knew she was there from Todd's pictures."

"Watch more closely." Angela rewound the video, hit the zoom button, and the three of them watched the woman pick up a book. "Look at her eyes and the angle of her head."

They watched her open the book and appear to study the inside flap of the jacket, but on closer inspection it became clear that she wasn't reading.

She was listening in on Brennan's conversation.

"Booth..." Angela waited until he looked over at her, then held his gaze, watching his eyes widen with alarm as she told him the rest. "We were talking about the baby."


	8. Chapter 8

The two hours of forced inactivity during the flight to Chicago had Booth checking his watch and tapping his foot against the floorboard. He'd sent Shaw back to Atlanta with a photograph of their mystery woman, a subpoena for credit card receipts, and the hope that somebody would be able to put a name to the face. An identical set of paperwork was in the thick folder that rested on his lap, and a third set of documents had been forwarded to the Seattle field office, which had promised to send an agent to the downtown Barnes & Noble. The evidence was skimpy, and it was only Caroline Julian's fast talking that had convinced a sympathetic but skeptical judge to sign the subpoenas.

Alone with his thoughts, Booth slid his hand into his pocket, his fingers closing over the tiny metal object Todd had found in Bones's room at Palmer House. It had arrived at the Hoover as Booth was leaving to catch his flight, and he'd only had time to pull it out of the over-sized FedEx envelope and stuff it in his coat on his way out the door. Now he brushed a fingertip over its worn edges and wondered what had prompted Bones to take it with her on her trip.

The day Pops had given it to her they'd been visiting him at the assisted living center for their regular afternoon of dominoes. Their plan going in had been to come clean about the baby, but Booth had stalled, unable to decide how to broach the subject. Midway through the second game Bones had started sending questioning glances his way, and finally Pops sat back, folded his arms across his stomach, and gave them both gimlet-eyed stares.

"All right," he said. "Out with it."

Faced with a raised eyebrow from Bones and that all too familiar don't-lie-to-me-kid look from Pops, Booth swallowed hard. He stacked his dominoes in a neat pile, stalling for time as his mouth went dry and his pulse hammered in his ears. Finally he looked up, meeting Bones's eyes for an instant before turning to the one man who, more than anyone else, had taught him what it meant to be a family.

"Bones and I are moving in together, Pops."

There was an instant of silence followed by a broad smile. "Well thank the Lord and join the chorus."

"I don't understand what that means," Bones said, looking from one man to the other in open confusion.

Booth shook his head with a slight smile. "It's just something Pops says sometimes, Bones. Means he approves."

"You're damned right I approve," Pops put in, getting up from his chair and giving Bones a fond pat on the shoulder. "This calls for a celebration." He skirted the narrow bar that separated the dining area from the tiny kitchen and reached into a cabinet, talking to them over his shoulder as he pulled out a trio of mismatched glasses. "It's about time you made your move, Shrimp. I was starting to think you'd never get around to it."

Booth met Bones's eyes across the pile of dominoes. Their gazes held, memories flashing between them. They both had regrets. They'd both made mistakes. But it was time to focus on the future. Booth looked away first, turning to check on his grandfather.

"Need some help with that, Pops?"

"I might be old, but I'm not incompetent," was the acerbic response. "You just sit there with your girlfriend, and I'll be back in two shakes."

Amusement flashed in Bones's eyes as she started setting up a new game.

"So what finally made you see the light?" Pops asked, coming back to the table with the glasses balanced on a metal tray. He handed Bones a drink, then passed another to Booth. "Was it something _I _said?"

"I'm pregnant," Bones said, and the pride in her voice made Booth smile.

Pops stared at her for a moment, then sat down heavily in his chair. "You're kidding me."

"No, I'm not." Bones shot Booth a puzzled look. "Why would I joke about having a baby?"

"He means he's surprised, Bones." Booth was watching Pops digest the news, noting the range of emotions that flashed across the older man's face.

"Surprised isn't the half of it," Pops said. "You two have been trying so hard to convince the world you were just friends that I'd just about given up on you." He shook his head and reached for his glass. "To new beginnings," he said, raising it in a toast.

Bones reached for her glass, and Booth felt an instant's concern about its contents, but Pops spoke up before he could say anything.

"'Fraid it's just grape juice," he said. "Damned home won't let me have any of the good stuff."

Relieved, Booth picked up his own drink. "To new beginnings."

He was looking at Bones as he said it, and when her gaze locked on his with that liquid warmth he still hadn't gotten used to he felt his chest grow tight. This was happening, he told himself for the umpteenth time. This was really happening. He sipped, letting the sweet tang of the juice linger on his tongue before swallowing.

"So." There was a dull thunk of heavy glass on wood as Pops set down his drink. "When's the wedding?"

It was as if somebody had dashed ice water in Booth's face. Slowly, he put down his own glass.

"We aren't getting married," Bones said, blithely unaware of the firestorm her words could unleash as she reached out to shuffle the dominoes. "We're just having a baby."

Pops froze in the act of drawing a domino from the pile to fire a disbelieving look at Booth. "What do you mean, you aren't getting married?"

When Booth had been five or six he'd gotten his hands on a book of matches and used them to torch a note from his teacher, hoping to hide the evidence of the fight he'd gotten into at school. He still remembered the look on Pops's face. It was almost the same combination of shocked disappointment and disapproval he saw now.

"Bones doesn't believe in marriage," Booth said quietly, willing Pops to understand. Knowing he wouldn't.

"Doesn't believe in marriage," Pops studied Bones, aghast. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked. "You one of those new-agers?"

"No," Booth answered before Bones could answer. "She's a scientist, Pops."

"I can speak for myself, Booth." Bones shot him a glare that made him lift his hands in silent surrender.

"Booth is right," she said, turning back to Pops. "Marriage is an artificial and largely ineffective attempt to circumvent the laws of nature." She'd picked up a domino. Booth wondered if she was aware of the restless way her thumb rubbed across the smooth surface as she talked. "The divorce rate alone is proof that human beings are incapable of the kind of sacrifice that's required by a lifetime commitment to one person."

There was something in her voice and eyes that made Booth study her more intently. Was it ambivalence? No. Not possible. Bones had changed a lot since he'd first met her. They both had. But no matter how much he wanted it to be otherwise he couldn't believe that she was rethinking her opinion on this particular topic.

Pops was staring at her, too, his expression one of baffled disbelief. Booth considered a strategic change of subject, but before he could say anything Pops pushed his chair back and stood up.

"You wait here," he said. "I got something I want to show you."

After Hank left the room Booth raised an eyebrow at Bones. "Way to stir up a hornet's nest, Bones."

"I won't lie to him. And I won't pretend to believe in marriage just to make him happy." Her eyes filled with regret as they tracked to the empty bedroom doorway. "Your grandfather's a good man. He deserves our honesty."

A dresser drawer slammed in the other room, and a moment later Pops reappeared holding something cupped in the palm of his hand.

"I've got a little story to tell you," he said, seating himself at the table once more. His attention was focused so intently on Bones that Booth wondered if his presence had been forgotten.

"My Helen was a lot like you," Pops said with a faraway look in his eyes that Booth had seen before. "She had that same independent streak, that same hardheadedness." He shook his head with a fond smile. "We used to have some rip roaring fights, let me tell you." A clock ticked over the hour in the other room and Booth heard the familiar chime of its bell as his grandfather's gaze narrowed on Bones, his thoughts returning to the present. "But we never even _thought_ about divorce. And do you know why?"

"I imagine it was because back then it was harder to get a divorce," Bones said. "It was an especially difficult choice for women, who often had no means of support beyond that provided by their husbands. Also, there was a great deal of social stigma attached to it."

Hank laughed. "Helen didn't much care about social stigma, and she didn't need me to support her," he said. "If she'd made up her mind that she wanted out of our marriage, she damn well would've gotten out." He shook his head, and when he went on his voice had dropped and deepened with the force of his memories. "We stayed married because we worked at it, day in and day out, for almost thirty years."

Pops took a sip of his juice and set the glass down, nudging it to one side, out of the way.

"Staying married isn't about sacrifice, Temperance." Pops rested his arm on the table and uncurled his fingers, revealing two game pieces. "It's about love. And commitment. And-" He tilted his hand so that the pieces tumbled across his palm. Booth saw remembrance in his grandfather's eyes, shadowed by sadness and loss. "And determination," he finished softly.

Booth looked across at Bones as Pops turned inward, obviously reliving the past in his thoughts.

"I don't remember much about my grandmother," Booth said, keeping his voice low. "But sometimes she and Pops would argue. Loudly. Then Pops would pull something out of his pocket or Grams would pull something out of her apron and suddenly the argument was over." He shook his head. "I thought it was magic."

"Nope. Not magic." Pops set a tiny metal shoe on top of a stack of dominoes.

"Monopoly," he said, and set another piece, this time a hat, beside the shoe. "We had an understanding, Helen and me. Whenever we had a tough decision to make or a fight to settle, we'd sit ourselves down for a game of Monopoly." He flashed a grin. "It's tough to stay mad at somebody for a whole game, 'specially when you can get even by putting hotels on Boardwalk and Park Place."

Bones smiled slightly. "Or buying up the railroads and utilities." At Booth's raised eyebrow, she shrugged. "Russ," she explained. "It was his favorite strategy."

Hank scooped up the playing pieces, then handed one to each of them. When they protested, he shook his head.

"You keep 'em," he said. He reached for a domino. "Maybe they'll do you two young folks some good. Seems to me you've got some decisions of your own to make." He picked up another domino. "Now. Are we gonna play another game or not?"

A burst of turbulence jolted Booth out of his reverie, and he tightened his seatbelt as the pilot's voice sounded on the public address system. They were beginning their descent into Chicago, the pilot explained. She apologized for the bumpy ride and promised to have them on solid ground soon. Booth tucked the little metal shoe back in his pocket and glanced at his watch. Five minutes early. Good.

As soon as he hit the terminal Booth turned his cellphone back on and checked for messages. There was just one, from Agent Shaw letting him know that she'd gotten an ID on their mystery woman from the staff at the Atlanta Barnes & Noble. Natalie Dabney, she told him when he reached her a few seconds later. Head of a company called Badenov Tech, which specialized in the design and installation of high-end industrial software. So job related travel could explain Dabney's presence at more than one of Bones's book signings, which meant that while better than nothing, the lead was still weak.

"Got an address?" he asked, jamming the phone into the crook of his neck while he pulled out notebook and pen. Weak or not, a lead was a lead, and he intended to follow it up.

"Corporate offices are in downtown Chicago," Shaw said, "but apparently Dabney works from home most of the time." She gave him both addresses, and he jotted them down.

"Got it." Someone jostled against him in the busy terminal, and he swallowed a curse as he grabbed for the phone just in time to keep it from falling under the feet of the passing crowds. "Anything else?"

"One thing. Dabney's married. Civil union about three months ago. Apparently it was a bit of an event. Top result on a Google search."

"Husband's name?" Booth asked, pen poised.

"You mean wife."

Booth paused, ignoring the curse behind his left shoulder as somebody made an abrupt course correction. "Wife?"

"Yes, sir. Chris Wright."

Something about Shaw's tone put Booth on the alert. He moved out of the flow of traffic, put his back to the wall, and lifted his head, listening intently. "What aren't you telling me?"

He heard her take a breath. Then, "Wright is a neonatal nurse. That's-"

"I know what it is," Booth snapped, his blood running cold as pieces started falling into place. "I'm going to head out to the residence for an initial interview. See if I can get a feel for what's what. I want you on the first plane out here."

"Yes, sir."

"And Shaw. I know Max Keenan's been in touch with you." Max was a shrewd son of a bitch who would do his damnedest to exploit Shaw as an information source. "If you mention one word of this to him you'll be living out of a cardboard box on some street corner by the end of the week." The last thing Booth needed was an angry father on his hands, especially one with Max's record.

"Understood."

"Good. Now get moving." He hung up, shoved the phone in his pocket, and headed for the Avis counter.

With traffic and tolls it took Booth another two hours to reach the outskirts of Lake Forest. As he neared the address Shaw had given him he thanked God he'd rented a late model SUV. Anything older or smaller would've drawn too much attention in a neighborhood where every other car was either a Lexus or a Lamborghini.

The GPS alerted him that he'd reached his destination, and he turned into a narrow driveway bordered on either side by an iron fence. The posts were closely spaced and topped by vicious pikes, making them appear to Booth more like planted Roman spears than ornamental landscaping. He stopped at the guardhouse, found it empty, and pushed the button to activate the intercom.

"Yes?"

The voice that answered his page was female. It also sounded rushed.

"F.B.I.," he answered. "Special Agent Seeley Booth." Beyond the gate the drive was deeply shadowed by overhanging trees. "I'm looking for Natalie Dabney or Chris Wright."

There was a pause, followed by a wary, "Why?"

He shot a raised eyebrow at the speaker. Interesting response. "I'd rather discuss that in person," he said, leaving off the standard 'if you don't mind' tag. He wasn't going to give her any excuse to turn him away.

Long seconds passed before a faint buzz signalled the opening of the big gate. He drove in, and the gate swung shut behind him.

The private road wound through thick trees that eventually gave way to a broad, rolling lawn and his first look at the house. The place was a classic example of conspicuous consumption, and Booth felt the familiar rise of his hackles at the sight of it. Tamping down his blue-collar resentment, he parked under the stone portico and cut the engine.

The heavy front door opened before he could push the bell, but the woman who peered around its edge at him wasn't Natalie Dabney. This woman was petite, with blonde hair and pale skin. She was dressed in blue surgical scrubs decorated with bright yellow airplanes. Chris Wright.

"Agent Booth. Come in." She stepped aside. "I'm Chris," she said, confirming his assumption, "but I'm afraid I can't talk for long. I need to get to work." She gave an apologetic shrug. "Night shift."

"I understand." Booth swept the room with his eyes, taking in the curved staircase, arched ceilings, and sparse but expensive furniture. "I won't take much of your time." He needed to see more. "Do you mind if we sit down?"

"Um … Sure. Right this way." She was nervous. He'd suspected it when he'd first heard her voice at the gate. Seeing her now, watching her eyes dart from place to place as she led him through the house, he was certain. Chris Wright was hiding something. He had to resist the temptation to grab her and shake her, to force her to talk. Instead he forced himself to relax and examine his surroundings. This could still be another false lead. But if Bones was here, or these people knew something about her disappearance, he had to be careful not to tip his hand too soon. He wouldn't take risks. Not when it came to Bones's life.

The back wall of the great room was more window than wood, with a broad expanse of tinted glass that overlooked rolling lawns and Lake Michigan. There were two boats-one a yacht, the other a speedboat-tied up at the dock. He made a mental note of that. If Wright and Dabney were his perps, he wasn't about to let them make a run for it across the lake.

"You said you had some questions?"

He turned to see Chris standing near an overstuffed leather chair. A pile of books on the table beside it drew his attention, and he narrowed his eyes, studying the spines. One was _Bred in the Bone_. Another, _Bone Free_. A notebook computer on another table displayed the home page for a local delivery service.

His instincts were screaming at him to act, but he reined them in. He didn't know. He suspected, yes. But he didn't _know_ anything. Evidence, he reminded himself. He needed evidence. And it had to be more than a couple of novels and a set of surgical scrubs. With a wave of his arm, he gestured to the books.

"Who's the Temperance Brennan fan?" he asked, deliberately casual. He needed to put Chris at ease. He'd never get a search warrant if Chris didn't let something slip.

Chris picked up _Bone Free_, and Booth remembered the day he'd first read its dedication. He wondered if Chris had read it, too.

She hugged the book to her chest, almost protectively. "I am." Her eyes shone with reverence, adding to Booth's unease. "I've got all her books."

"She's a good author," he said agreeably. "What's your favorite?"

Chris shook her head and folded her arms across her chest. Defensive posture. "You said you had some questions?"

She wasn't softening. He'd have to jump in. "Temperance Brennan is missing," he said, watching her carefully. "She hasn't been seen in two weeks."

"Oh!" Wright's expression of surprise pinged false, but that was instinct again, not evidence. "I'm so sorry to hear that, but I'm afraid I don't see how I can help."

"Your wife, Natalie, was seen with her the night she disappeared."

Chris blinked at him, then slowly put down the book. Booth watched her fingertips drag across the cover. Did he imagine their faint tremor? "Wait. Are you talking about that night at Women and Children First?"

"Yes." He noted the faint dilation of her pupils, the half step back.

"Yes, Natalie was there. I had to work that night, so Nat went to get an autograph for me."

"When she got home, did she mention anything that seemed out of place or unusual?"

Chris shook her head slowly. "No, I'm afraid she didn't." She glanced at her watch and gave an exaggerated grimace. "Listen. I'm sorry, but I really need to get to work." She picked up a purse from the top of the grand piano, then gestured toward the door. "I wish I could tell you more, but Nat honestly didn't say anything."

Everything about the exchange rang false, but Booth had no option except to leave. Whatever the truth was, Chris was doing her damnedest to hide it from him, and without solid evidence, he had no more right to be here than a traveling salesman.

He nodded. "I'd like to talk to her myself," he said. "When will she be home?"

Chris shifted uneasily and edged toward the door. "I don't know, really. Nat's schedule is pretty erratic."

"Big business," he said, with a commiserating smile. "It's tough being top dog, huh?"

With a nervous laugh, Chris opened the door. "Yeah, well." She shrugged and gestured toward their surroundings. "Money's good."

"Apparently." Booth reached for his wallet and pulled out a business card. He crossed the room and offered it to Chris. "Have her give me a call. I can be reached at that number any time of the day or night."

Chris took the card. Nodded. "I'll tell her."

He held it together until he'd left the high class enclave behind. Then he pulled into a grocery store parking lot, cut the engine, and slammed his palms against the steering wheel.

"Damn it!"

Wright was hiding something. Booth was certain of it. But he didn't have enough evidence for a warrant. His notebook was in the center console. He pulled it out, grabbed a pen, and jotted down what he did have. It was a short list. Too short. Not even Caroline Julian would be able to wrangle a search warrant out of what he had right now. Letting his head drop back against the seat, Booth stared through the window, only gradually focusing on the truck that was parked a few yards away, its bright green logo glinting in the afternoon sun.

Booth picked up his cellphone and jabbed in Shaw's number. When her number rolled straight to voice-mail he left her a series of terse instructions, ending with the name of the hotel where he'd reserved rooms and an order to stay put once she got in. He'd be there as soon as he could.

Finished, he disconnected and pocketed his phone, then got out of the car. An idea was taking shape in his mind, but he'd probably have to do some serious tap-dancing to pull it off.

*x*x*x*x*

It had taken three interminable days for his plan to come together. Shaw was going in undercover as a Peapod trainee, but to avoid raising suspicion they'd had to wait for Dabney and Wright to place an order. That had finally happened late the previous evening, and Shaw had arrived at Booth's hotel room that morning dressed in the khaki slacks, polo shirt, and ball cap of a delivery driver.

"Remember," he said, on the way to the warehouse. "Keep your eyes open for anything you can tie directly to Dr. Brennan. Anything."

"I remember."

He felt her eyes on him, but waited for her to tell him what was on her mind.

"Can I ask a question, sir?"

"Shoot."

"It's been more than two weeks, but you seem so certain she's still alive."

Two weeks of radio silence from a missing person heightened the odds against their eventual recovery. Standard procedure was to start preparing families for the possibility that their loved one might never return from the outset.

Booth's hands flexed against the steering wheel.

"She's alive, Agent Shaw." He refused to consider any other possibility. "She's alive. And we're going to bring her home."

He felt her gaze on him but didn't look over, concentrating instead on tamping down the roiling nausea that churned in his gut at the suggestion that he might never see Bones again.

"You can't start thinking that way," he said quietly. "You can't start thinking the person you love is gone forever, because as soon as you do that you start to give up." And then he did look at her, his foot hovering over the brake as he coasted in to a red light. "I'll never give up on Bones. Never."

She nodded wordlessly and turned to face front.

The rest of the trip passed in heavy silence.

*x*x*x*x*

The inside of the truck smelled of fresh produce and cardboard. Beside her, Robert chatted away, oblivious to Genny's real identify as he filled her in on the vagaries of life as a Peapod driver. His cheerful voice helped calm her nerves while she mentally reviewed Agent Booth's instructions. She was supposed to help carry in the groceries, then find some pretense to delay their exit as long as she could while she looked for evidence. There would be an inventory to do, of course, and paperwork to sign. That should buy her a couple of minutes, but she'd have to be quick.

"This is it," Robert said, turning left into a private drive. "Wait'll you get a load of this place. It's huge. And the kitchen..." He sighed theatrically. "The kitchen's a work of art. Top notch equipment, walk in pantry and freezer … What I wouldn't do for just a few hours alone in that room." Robert was an aspiring chef. He'd told her he was working at Peapod while he saved money for culinary school.

Genny summoned an enthusiastic grin. "Sounds dreamy."

Robert threw her a teasing look. "Dreamy?" His dark eyes sparkled with humor, the corners of his lips quirking upward as he looked at her. "You sound like a reject from the seventies."

She shrugged and smiled back. "Scooby Doo fan," she said. "Too many reruns for my own good."

"Daphne, right?" He brought the truck to a stop at the front gate and rolled down the window. Genny watched him reach out to punch the intercom button. "Isn't she the airhead?"

Genny snorted, grateful to him for the slight easing of tension between her shoulder blades. "Now who sounds like a reject from the seventies."

Whatever he'd been about to say was interrupted by a voice from the speaker.

"Yes?"

"Peapod," Robert sang out. "We have your delivery."

"Yes. Thank you. Please drive around to the back."

"Yes, ma'am." Robert rolled the window back up as the big gate swung open. Then he shifted the truck into gear and started down the winding drive. When he started humming the Scooby Doo theme song under his breath Genny grinned and joined in.

"Scooby Dooby Doo. Where are you? We've got some work to do now …"

As they rounded the last bend in the drive Genny trailed into silence, the butterflies in her stomach once more taking wing. The house was austere and imposing. Built in the Georgian style, it reigned over the rigidly geometric landscape like William the Conqueror surveying his troops. She gave a light shudder, and Robert glanced over at her with a sidelong grin.

"Friendly place, huh?"

Genny shook her head. "Reminds me of the Tower of London."

"People who live here are nice enough, though. Gay couple. Good tippers."

Genny didn't know what sexual preferences had to do with tipping, but she didn't ask, more interested in evaluating the premises than in idle conversation. They'd need to cover the front and back doors if-when-they returned with a warrant. The five car garage was detached, but the covered walkway joining it to the main house meant another door to watch. As they pulled around to the back Genny eyed the lake access and the two boats moored at the dock.

"Nice life you if you can get it," she said.

"Oh, I don't know. They're all locked up back here behind that gate. Pretty isolated."

She looked over at him. "Some people like isolation."

"Hmm," was all he said as he cut the engine. "Ready?"

Genny adjusted her cap and nodded. "Ready."

There were half a dozen boxes of food and supplies to carry in. When Robert opened the back of the truck she hefted one of them, taking a deep breath of the organic vegetables while she waited for Robert to grab another box and lead the way down the concrete walkway to the kitchen entrance.

The woman who met them at the door was petite, with a spattering of freckles across her cheeks that made her look younger than the thirty-four years attributed to her by her driver's license. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a haphazard ponytail, and her face was free of makeup. She wore no jewelry, and her fingernails were short and unpainted.

"Hello, Robert." Wright opened the door wide. "How are you today?"

"Can't complain," he said, squeezing past her with his overflowing box. "Got a new kid with me today. Trainee."

Genny followed him inside, setting her own box on the granite counter beside his before turning and offering her hand to Chris. "Genny Shaw," she said, hoping that her voice sounded young, innocent and a little bit nervous. "Robert's showing me the ropes."

"Oh?" Chris looked her over, ignoring the proffered handshake. "Kind of small for a delivery driver, aren't you?"

"I'm stronger than I look." Genny dropped her hand and glanced around. "Nice place you've got here." The room was spotless. No dirty dishes in the sink or junk mail littering the counter tops. No sauce packets or fast food napkins either, though Genny hadn't really expected any. Wide windows overlooked the lawns. One, lined with glass shelves, hosted a variety of potted herbs. Genny recognized a few of them, but most were beyond her limited experience. She wondered which of their suspects was the foodie.

"Thank you." Chris leaned a hip against another counter, near what looked like a restaurant-grade fridge. "We like it."

"Come on," Robert said, interrupting Genny's examination of the large, sunny room. "Help me bring in the rest of the boxes."

In minutes they'd unloaded the van. On their last trip inside Robert brought along his clipboard, and he and Chris settled in to review the order. Agent Booth had arranged some mistakes in the delivery, so hopefully the inventory would take longer than usual.

Genny was banking on that as she settled near the doorway that led to the rest of the house, then looked over to where Chris and Robert were deep in conversation. Chris had her back turned, her head bent over one of the boxes as she sorted through its contents, and Genny took advantage of the opportunity to crane her neck around the corner. To her left, a large open room overlooked the yard and the lake beyond. Genny saw a baby grand piano, a couple of chairs, and an end table loaded with books. On her right, a short hallway led to a half-opened door.

Genny glanced back, and seeing that Chris and Robert were still busy, edged out of the kitchen and down the hall, praying that her practical rubber-soled shoes wouldn't squeak on the polished hardwood floor. They didn't, but she knew she was on borrowed time. At any instant Chris might notice her absence and come looking for her.

Reaching the open doorway, Genny peeked inside. The room was empty. After another quick look back the way she'd come, she ducked inside.

Once upon a time the room had probably served as a pantry, but now it was being used as a small office. There was a laptop computer on the desk, its lid closed. A series of monitors lined the wall above. A sophisticated collection of hardware occupied a rack to one side of the desk, with a cordless headset/microphone combination unit dangling from a hook on one end. Genny lifted the lid of the computer and slid her finger across the mouse pad, activating the screen.

It took a second or two for the display to light up, and another for Genny to realize what she was seeing. Then she closed the laptop and backed out of the room, moving quickly and hoping her absence hadn't been discovered.

It hadn't, but she'd cut it close. When Genny ducked back into the kitchen Chris was handing the clipboard back to Robert, having apparently just signed her name.

"Want us to help you put any of this stuff away?" he was asking.

"No, thank you," Chris turned then and saw Genny leaning just inside the kitchen door. Her gaze narrowed for an instant, but then she nodded. "Nice meeting you," she said.

"Nice meeting you, too," Genny tamped down the combination of anger and excitement that thrummed in her veins and crossed the room to where Robert waited near the door. He handed her the clipboard, and Genny glanced at the scrawled signature. The C and W were almost legible, but the rest was little more than a squiggle.

Robert pulled open the door and Genny followed him through it and down the stone steps. Heart pounding, palms clammy with sweat, she struggled to act as if nothing was wrong as she climbed into the truck and buckled her seatbelt.

"Everything okay?" Robert asked, studying her across the vinyl seat. "You look a little flushed."

She managed a weak grin. "Just a little nervous," she said. "Rich people terrify me." What she'd seen had infuriated her, and she'd wished she could take immediate action. But she didn't have backup, and she wasn't stupid enough let her emotional reaction put the entire operation at risk.

Robert looked over at the house, then at her. "I've never met Ms. Dabney," he said. "But Chris has never been anything but kind to me." He started the engine and shifted the truck into gear, then glanced over at her again as he steered the vehicle into the roundabout that would take them back to the main drive. "Most folks in this area are pretty harmless. Hell, a lot of the time you don't even see the homeowners, just the hired help. Also?" He flashed her a grin and tapped his breast pocket. "They're great tippers. Remind me to give you your share when we get back."

As soon as they were off the estate grounds and out of range of any surveillance Dabney might have put in place Genny pulled out her cell phone and punched in Agent Booth's number.

"How'd it go?" His voice was tight with a tension she understood. She glanced over at Robert, considering her reply as her fingers curled into fists in her lap.

"She's there, sir."

*x*x*x*x*

Faced with irrefutable evidence in the form of Genny's sworn affidavit, Hacker approved Booth's request for backup without hesitation. Using the same affidavit, Caroline Julian got a judge to sign off on the warrants he needed. She faxed them to him at the local FBI field office along with a terse command.

"Bring her home."

He intended to do exactly that.

Because of the circumstances of the case Hacker had given Booth a temporary promotion to SIC and placed him in command of the op-after warning him that if things went south it would be Booth's head on the chopping block. Booth didn't consider it a risk.

The setup was complicated by the security gate and the need to have somebody out on the lake. CPD agreed to send in two patrol boats, locking down the possibility that Dabney and Wright might try to escape by water, fleeing across the border and from there to God knew where. A second call, this one to emergency services, netted him the override codes for the security gate. Paperwork and codes in hand, Booth gave the order to move out.

Thirty minutes later Booth pulled up behind an unmarked SUV across the street from the residence and punched a number into his cell phone.

"It's Booth," he said, when the line was answered on the other end by an agent in the SUV. "Got anything?"

"One arrival." The reply was instant. Professional. "Late model Lexus."

Of course it would be another Lexus. "I.D.?"

"Tag's registered to Natalie Dabney, but no confirmation on whether or not she was driving."

"Right. You've got three teams. Fan them out along the fence line. Nobody gets in or out without my say so."

"Got it."

Booth clicked off, then watched in the rear view mirror as the Chicago agents assembled, talked, and then dispersed, one man returning to the car to provide mobile support. Satisfied, Booth looked over at Shaw.

"Ready?"

Shaw checked her weapon, gave her vest a nervous tug. "Yes, sir."

Booth had settled into a kind of deadly calm now that the end of his search was near, and he gave Shaw a nod of approval. "We're in the home stretch, Shaw. Just remember your training, follow my instructions, and this will go off without a hitch."

"Yes, sir," she said again, and it drew him back to when he'd been the rookie-a little too eager and a little too green.

He reached over and touched her sleeve. "You did good work, Shaw. You found her without breaking your cover. I made sure Hacker knew that."

Gratitude and pride replaced the nervous fear in her eyes. "Thank you, sir."

"You earned it." He shifted the car back into gear. "Let's get this show on the road."

At the gate Booth pushed the intercom button. He could've gone straight to the emergency access codes, but he was determined that every step would be by the book and above reproach. He wasn't about to give these two a legal loophole to squirm through.

"Yes?" The voice was sharp and imperious. Definitely not Wright, whose voice was softer and accented with a hint of New England.

"F.B.I.," he said. "Special Agent Seeley Booth."

There was a slight pause, then a cold, "What do you want?"

Booth pushed the button again, his eyes on the video camera mounted to a nearby fencepost. "We're here to execute a search warrant of the premises," he said, keeping his voice cool. Professional. "You need to open the gate."

This time the response was immediate. "Not until I call my lawyer."

"You can call your lawyer," Booth answered, "but we aren't waiting. Either you open the gate for us now, or I'll open it myself. Your choice." His finger was already hovering over the number pad, but again, he waited for her response. By the book, he reminded himself. Breathe. Think. Wait.

Stay cool.

Despite his determination to hold back, he'd already punched in the first two digits of the code when the gate began to open. He drew his hand back and looked over at Genny, noting her wide eyes and quick, shallow breaths. There wasn't much he could say that would bring her back down, so he returned his attention to the shadowed drive.

"Be ready," he said grimly. "This is going to happen fast."

She nodded and unbuckled her seat belt, then adjusted the bullet proof vest again. Booth triggered his radio. "Safeties off," he said. "Teams three, four and five will lock down the entrances. Team six, you're with Agent Shaw."

"What about you, sir?" Genny asked, after the other agents had acknowledged his orders.

Booth pulled up in front of the house, turned off the engine, and pocketed the keys in one swift, fluid motion.

"I'm going after Bones."

A matched set of black SUVs had followed them up the drive, and as Booth got out of the car a dozen agents fanned out across the property, some running around to the back, others to the sides of the house. Ignoring them, Booth sprang up the steps to the front door and heard the roar of diesel engines as the patrol boats he'd requested neared the dock. He rapped the heavy door twice with his knuckles, then jabbed the doorbell.

"F.B.I!" he called out. "Open up!"

When there was no answer he tried the knob.

Locked.

Swearing, he gestured at his backup team. They sprinted to their vehicle for the battering ram as he gave the door another sharp rap, then punched the doorbell again. Still nothing. They were here. No question. Which meant they knew why the F.B.I. was back and had locked the door to buy themselves time. Booth steadied his grip on his gun. It also meant they were desperate.

Sixty seconds later the door crashed open. Booth didn't wait to hear it slam against the wall before he was inside.

"F.B.I.!" He yelled again. His voice bounced off the tile and echoed against the vaulted ceilings. There was no response. More agents had arrived while they'd been taking down the door, and Booth gestured to them to clear the ground floor while he turned to Shaw.

"Office," he said tersely.

She nodded and led him through the house, Booth chaffing at the extra seconds it took to clear each room. By the time they reached the small office just off the kitchen it was all he could do to keep from shoving her aside.

The monitors she'd told him about were still there, as was the rack of hardware to one side. But the computer was gone.

"Damn it!" Booth turned to Shaw, but before he could say anything his radio crackled.

"Second and third floors clear." The voice belonged to one of the Chicago field agents. "No joy."

Booth swore again. "Have a team check the outbuildings," he snapped, and waited for the acknowledgement before narrowing his gaze at Shaw. "What do you remember about the room she was in?" he asked urgently. "Is there anything, anything at all that you might have left out?"

Shaw shook her head. "It was a bedroom," she insisted. "There was a big bed and a dresser. The floor was carpeted. There were pictures on the walls."

"What about windows?" he asked. "Could you tell what side of the house it was on by the angle of the sunlight?" He should have asked earlier. Should have thought of it. Now he cursed the mistake that was costing them precious time.

Shaw was still talking. She shook her head. "I only got a quick look, but I don't remember seeing any windows."

Booth pushed past her and turned left into the kitchen, hoping to find some clue, some hint of where Bones might be. There was a metal panel set into the wall near the fridge. He crossed to it. Dumbwaiter. No surprise there, considering the size of the house. Then he looked more carefully at the control panel.

"Shaw!" When she joined him, he pointed. "See anything odd about that panel?"

She studied it for a second, then- "There's a down."

"And we're on the ground floor."

"Basement?"

"That's what I'm thinking."

"Property records didn't show a finished basement."

Booth shrugged that off. "They could've added it after moving in."

He strode across the vast kitchen, gun in hand, and stopped at a door he'd assumed led to a pantry. He didn't know what he was going to find on the other side, but whatever it was he had to find it alone. Against procedure or not, he was doing this part without backup.

"Join the others," he said. "Help them search the outbuildings. And secure those damned boats."

"But sir …"

"That's an order, Agent Shaw."

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

A moment later she was gone, and Booth pulled open the door, his heart in his throat. Please, he prayed. Please let her be okay.

A set of stairs dropped into shadow. The narrow wooden steps were set between concrete walls. There was a landing midway down, after which the stairs took a sharp right turn into a space he couldn't see. What little light there was seemed to be coming from whatever lay beyond.

He thought about calling out, but decided against it. Instead he eased down the stairs, gun arm extended and braced, finger poised over the trigger. He paused at the turn as an agent's voice sounded in his ear.

"We've got Wright," he heard. "She was headed for the dock."

Then another voice, Shaw's this time. "Agent Booth? The house and outbuildings are clear. Do you need assistance?"

Booth clicked the regulation hold response but said nothing, unwilling to reveal his position to whoever might be standing at the bottom of the steps. Hoping Shaw would stay put, he focused on the task at hand. He had to assume Bones was nearby-and with her, Natalie Dabney.

Rounding the last corner in a swift, fluid move, he brought his gun to bear on the space below. Half a dozen more stairs ended in a short hallway, at the end of which light spilled through the open door of what looked like a bedroom.

Between Booth and the doorway stood Natalie Dabney.

Her face was set and hard, her eyes fierce.

Booth swallowed hard.

Dabney had one arm wrapped around Bones's neck, while a short knife gleamed dully in her other hand, its point aimed squarely at ...

"Bones …" Her name came out on a whispered breath. "Dear God. Bones …"

"One more step and they both die." Dabney's voice was calm. Unemotional.

"Booth ...?" Bones sounded lost. Afraid.

Booth shifted his gaze from Dabney's face to hers. Even in this light he could see that she looked tired and pale. A tidal wave of protectiveness washed over him, and he almost risked everything on a single, desperate lunge. Instead he took a deep breath and forced reassurance into his voice, pushing it past the rage and fear.

"Yeah, Bones. I'm here."

"Booth … They want the baby."

Booth's glance flickered down to the knife, then back up to the cool confidence in Natalie Dabney's dark eyes.

"I know."

He saw it all so clearly now, and with understanding had come fury. He turned his attention back to Dabney.

"Let her go," he said coldly. "Now."

Natalie didn't move except to press the tip of the knife more firmly against Bones's stomach. Bones flinched, and Booth almost lost himself to the murderous rage that rose up inside him at the sight.

"She doesn't want it anyway." There was no doubt in Dabney's voice, which told him that she didn't know how far Bones had been willing to go to get pregnant, or the price she'd almost paid. "Oh, she says she wants it, but that's just hormones. Once her levels return to normal she'll remember who she really is."

Stay calm, he reminded himself, gun hand steady as he searched for his adversary's weakness. Pay attention. Don't provoke her.

"Oh?" he asked conversationally. "And who is that?"

Something flickered in Dabney's eyes, but the light wasn't good enough for Booth to guess what it was. "She's a forensic anthropologist," she said as if she thought Booth was a little bit slow. "The best in her field."

"Yeah, so?" Deliberately casual, he inched his right foot forward, easing off the landing and onto the first step. "Lots of scientists have babies."

"She's also a world class mystery writer."

"World class, huh?" Not a term Booth had heard applied to Bones before. Best-selling, yes, but world class? "I didn't know that."

Below him, Bones's eyes flared with indignation, and he prayed that just this once she'd keep quiet and let him do his damned job.

Dabney eyed him warily, as if trying to figure out what he was up to. "Have you _read_ her books?" she asked. "She dedicated one of them to you. The least you could do is read it."

So she knew who he was. Did she also know that he was the baby's father? Either way, it complicated things. She'd be on her guard anyway, but with the additional knowledge of his relationship with Bones ... With studied nonchalance, Booth gave a light shrug and eased down another step. "I'm not much for reading," he said. "Now if you want to talk hockey …"

The end of his sentence was forestalled by a sudden movement from Bones as she struggled against Dabney's hold. The knife shifted. Dabney swore. And Booth felt the diamond-sharp edge of rising panic. _Don't move,_ he thought. _God damn it, Bones. Don't move!_ As if reading his mind, she stilled, her eyes finding his in the near darkness.

"Hockey is for neanderthals," Dabney sneered when Bones had settled. "It's all about men beating their chests and fighting for supremacy."

Another step. Only a handful left. He needed to keep her talking. Buy time. "It's more than that," Booth said calmly. "Hockey is about courage. And heart."

So much of life was about heart.

"Dr. Brennan's heart is in her work," Dabney said, bringing the conversation full circle. "As it should be." Her expression dared him to argue with her. "Chris and I will give this child a good home," she said. "We'll raise it as our own, send it to the best schools, make sure it has access to all the best teachers and learning tools."

"My child," Bones said in a low venomous tone that sent alarm racing up Booth's spine, "is not an _it_."

With that she burst into action, moving so fast that Booth had no chance to do anything but curse as he sprang down the three remaining steps to the narrow hallway while Bones and Dabney struggled for the knife. Bones had slammed her elbow backwards into Dabney''s stomach, causing the other woman to let out a grunt of surprise that rolled into a curse when Bones's heel came down on her instep. Booth shoved his gun into its holster and closed in on the pair as Bones dropped and twisted, catching Dabney's wrist and yanking it back and up until there was a faint popping sound followed by Dabney's howl of pain, then the clatter of metal on concrete as the knife hit the floor.

Dabney didn't go down, though. Swearing and struggling, she took a wild swing at Bones that could've broken her jaw if Booth hadn't intercepted its power mid sweep, his hand closing over her wrist in a fierce grip. He yanked out his handcuffs and slapped the first around her left wrist before she could react. Then he grabbed her other arm and pulled it back, ignoring Dabney's grunt of pain while he slapped on the second cuff. Bones had stepped aside by then, out of the line of fire, and Booth spun Dabney around by the shoulders, slamming her against the wall. She stared at him, panting hard, eyes wild as his forearm pressed into her neck hard enough to make her gasp.

He wanted to press harder, wanted to watch her eyes roll back in her head and feel her body struggle helplessly against his. He wanted her to beg for her freedom the way Bones might've begged for hers. He leaned in, just a little, and watched her face redden with the need for air, listened to the scrabble of her fingernails against the concrete wall at her back. He was dimly aware of movement behind him, but he ignored it, more interested in the woman in front of him, the woman who'd threatened Bones and their child, the woman who'd wanted to destroy his world.

"You're going to regret this." He kept his voice low, too low for anybody but Dabney to hear. "And if I find out you hurt her ... in _any_ way," he snarled, watching her eyes glaze with terror, "jail isn't the only thing you'll have to worry about.

There was a hand on his arm, then. And a voice in his ear. It took a moment to recognize it.

"Let her go, Booth."

Bones. He shook his head without taking his eyes off of Dabney's. Her mouth was open now, her eyes panicked.

"Booth! I'm okay!" The desperation in her voice, the fierce determination behind it, finally drew him back from the edge. Slowly, he eased his hold, his gaze flickering to the stairwell and the sound of clattering footsteps. With a grunt of disgust he stepped back and let Dabney crumple, her breath harsh and rasping, to the floor.

Then he turned, swept Bones into his arms, and buried his face in her hair.


	9. Chapter 9

Two weeks later Brennan woke with a start in the middle of the night. She bolted upright, momentarily confused by sheets that weren't Egyptian cotton, a mattress that wasn't memory foam, and pillows that clearly weren't filled with goose down. Her eyes flared wide in the pitch dark of the room. Her heart raced. Perspiration beaded on her brow. And her breath came in short, tight gasps. It wasn't until Booth's voice penetrated the haze of fear and confusion that she began to recognize her surroundings.

"Easy," His hand brushed hers so gently that she almost thought she'd imagined it. "You're home, Bones." Another, firmer touch, then lean, familiar fingers wrapping around her own as her initial panic began to ease. "You're safe."

The fierce pounding in her chest abated, but she was still breathing fast when she shoved a pillow behind her and sat back against the headboard.

"Damn it!" She mopped at her forehead in frustration. "There's no rational basis for these nightmares." But there was no denying the lingering dryness in her throat or the tension in her neck and shoulders.

"You were _kidnapped_." He sat up beside her, his shoulder brushing hers. "You were locked in a windowless, concrete room for more than two weeks. How is that not a reason for nightmares?"

She could still smell the damp basement air, but she shrugged the memory off. "I was comfortable," she argued. "Organic food. Reading materials. Luxury linens." She shook her head. "The bathtub was big enough for four!"

"Kidnapped, Bones," he repeated inexorably. "No freedom. No contact with the outside world."

She felt him take her hand again. Her fingers curled around his as he continued.

"No contact with _me_."

Calmer now, she stared into darkness alleviated only by the faint glow of the bedside alarm clock and let herself lean into the solid strength of his shoulder.

"Inductive reasoning based on an initial fallacy, leading to actions that were outside accepted societal norms." Her voice sounded small even to her own ears as she acknowledged the one fact that made everything so much worse. "It was Zack all over again."

His grip on her hand tightened, then eased. "I'm not a scientist, Bones. Talk me through it."

She let her head fall back against the pillows, attempting to apply logic and reason to a situation that appeared to have neither.

"Hormonal surges during pregnancy heighten a woman's maternal instincts," she said. "It isn't unheard of for those instincts to fade after the birth." Wright had been correct on that point, one very likely gleaned through both training and experience. "And in the past I did make numerous public statements that attested to a lack of interest in child rearing." Booth started to say something, but she cut him off, needing to follow her captors' motivations all the way through to the end. That was how research worked. Gather the facts. Examine them. Draw rational, evidence-based conclusions. "It's equally true that I'm devoted to my work and that the time demands required by my dual careers are significant."

Dabney had spent two weeks hammering Brennan with the facts she was presenting to Booth now. There'd been taped interviews. Copies of magazine articles. Pie charts and graphs and statistical analyses. And always, always, that calmly analytical voice of reason drifting over her from the speakers embedded in the ceiling. Even now, when she closed her eyes at night it was often Natalie's voice that echoed in Brennan's ears.

According to Dabney, Brennan wasn't meant to be a mother and would likely fail at the attempt. No. Brennan was a world-renowned scientist and an author of best-selling novels. She should focus on that and allow Dabney and Wright to raise her child. They had plenty of money, and Wright planned to quit her job. When the time came, they would be able to give Brennan's child all the love and attention that she could not. The arrangement they proposed would, according to them, benefit all parties involved. Natalie would be provided with an heir, Chris would have the family she'd always wanted, and Brennan would be free to concentrate on her work, unencumbered by the demands of parenthood.

"Their conclusion was sound," she finished.

"There's nothing sound-" Booth snarled the word, making her turn in some surprise to look at him. "-about two women trying to steal our baby." His face was bathed in shadow, but she still saw the glint of fury in his eyes.

"Not steal," she corrected. "Adopt."

Private adoption. That's what they'd proposed. She would be openly acknowledged as the child's biological parent, encouraged to participate in his life to whatever extent she chose, and able to maintain her current work schedule, secure in the knowledge that the child was well cared for.

She shuddered as their voices played again in her mind-soft, insidious, and persuasive.

"Steal." Booth's tone didn't brook any argument. "A coerced adoption is stealing. No matter how they tried to rationalize it." He shifted around to face her. "Our baby, Bones." Touching his forehead to hers, he laid his hand on her stomach. "Our little girl."

"Or boy," she said, driven to correct him despite herself.

His lips quirked, and he pressed a quick kiss against her temple. "Or boy," he acknowledged as he sat back once more.

He apparently considered the matter resolved, but Brennan couldn't get Dabney's words out of her head. They were there, always, a hissing swirl of promise and accusation surfing just beneath conscious thought. She couldn't clear her mind, especially not here in DC, where her work was a constant distraction. She needed neutral territory, someplace without the background noise of history and obligation weighting the scales. But she didn't want to go alone.

"Booth?"

"What?"

She waved a hand, its shape ghostly pale in the darkened room. "Can you get some time off?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "Probably."

The hesitation worried her. His job wasn't like hers. If he pushed too hard they might let him go. But she couldn't think about that right now, not while she still had Natalie Dabney's voice in her head.

"I want to go away somewhere. Just for a few days."

"Do you have anyplace special in mind?" He didn't seem surprised by her request, merely curious.

"Mountains." She wanted nature, not man-made structures. She wanted trees, a broad expanse of bright-blue sky, and the fresh scent of pine. She needed space. And time. And a quiet place to think.

She felt his fingers wrap around hers once more. "We'll leave tomorrow," he said.

*x*x*x*x*

The Garrett County cabin belonged to a friend of Booth's at the Hoover who came up twice a year to hunt. When Booth had asked about it Jacobs had handed over the key with a wink, a broad smile, and a warning that the place was rustic.

Rustic, Booth decided looking at it now, was a charitable description. He watched Bones study the ramshackle structure, her head tilted a little to one side, and half expected her to get back in the car and tell him to take her home. Instead, she shot a grin over her shoulder before making her way up the front steps.

"It's perfect," she said.

Booth snorted and shook his head as stepped up beside her to fit the key into the lock.

"You need a new dictionary," he said, to the accompaniment of creaking hinges.

It was a one-room affair. Fireplace to the left, fronted by a shabby futon. Camp cot to the right. Rickety card table and two folding chairs straight ahead. A little exploration revealed a tiny bathroom at the back. Booth let out a sigh of relief when he turned on the faucet and was rewarded by a stream of ice cold water. It had probably cost a small fortune to get well-drilling equipment up here, but thank God somebody had forked over the cash.

Bones eyed the narrow cot. Then she eyed him.

"Got it covered," he said, before she could comment. "Air mattress." He'd gotten the best one he could find, too. He didn't care how much she needed primitive. He was damned if she was going to be uncomfortable while they were here.

She nodded. "Good thing I'm five months pregnant and not eight," she said.

Amen, he thought as he watched her swipe at a cobweb.

He left her to deal with the dust while he hauled in their supplies. They'd been partners and friends for long enough that even in this unfamiliar setting they worked well together, and in an hour the cabin was reasonably clean, their gear stowed, and Booth had a fire going. With no electricity in the cabin they were reduced to cold showers, battery-powered lanterns, and the small propane stove Jacobs had suggested they bring, but they'd manage. Neither one of them was a stranger to conditions like these, and Bones seemed content with the simple surroundings, more at peace than she'd been since he'd found her in Chicago.

After they'd eaten and cleaned up they relaxed on the futon. With the setting of the sun, the room grew darker, until the only light came from the flicker of the small fire they'd kept going after dinner. Bones curled deeper into Booth's side. He draped an arm around her shoulders.

"Comfortable?" he asked.

Her response was a low hum that he took as approval. He brushed his thumb against her arm and returned his attention to the fire. Several minutes passed before Bones spoke again.

"What if they were right?" Quiet words, edged with worry. He didn't need to ask who 'they' were.

"About what?"

"They said I wouldn't be a good mother, that I was too emotionally distant, too busy with my work."

She didn't move, but he felt the tension rise in her back and shoulders. With a silent curse he wished for another shot at Natalie Dabney's throat. He'd take Wright's, too, if he could get it.

"Bones …" She'd come so far since he'd first met her, but two weeks with that pair and she was starting to question herself again. "You're going to make a great mom." He'd said it before, and he still believed it. But her doubts rang loud in the silence of the room.

She twisted around to look at him. "How do you know?"

"Because." He brushed a strand of hair back from her eyes. "I know you."

The slight narrowing of her eyes and the frown that accompanied it were pure Bones. "Anecdotal and inconclusive," she said. "You've never seen me parent, so you don't have any way of knowing whether or not I can do it."

"I've seen you with Parker," he pointed out. "And I've seen you with Michael."

She seemed dissatisfied, so he tried a different approach, biting back his impatience. None of this was her fault.

"Look. Bones ... Nobody knows what kind of parent they're going to be until it happens. You just-" he searched for words, finally giving up and ending on a shrug. "You just do the best you can."

"What if my best isn't good enough?"

He would have laughed at that if she hadn't sounded so serious. "You've succeeded at every damned thing you've put your mind to. You'll succeed at this, too." A log shifted in the fireplace, sending up a burst of sparks. "Besides," he said, as he bent his head to press a kiss against her temple, "you aren't going to be doing it alone, remember?"

She sat up abruptly, catching him by surprise as she pulled away and folded her arms across her stomach.

"I have something I need to say." Her fingers flexed against her shirt as she glanced over at him, then away. "And I can't ask Angela for advice about how to say it, so I'm probably going to get it wrong."

He nodded warily. "Okay."

"I shouldn't have gone back to the clinic without talking to you first." She unfolded her arms to slide her hands over her thighs in a restless, worried sweep he found endearing. "Angela tried to tell me, but I didn't understand until …" She shook her head. Her eyes shimmered with tears.

"They wanted to take this baby, this … part of me. Of _us_." Her eyes flicked to his again. Slid away. "I told myself that using your sperm was just about chromosomes and genetics. I even believed it for a while. But when I used that sample-" She took a breath. Let it out slowly. "It was like I stole a part of you, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," he said quietly, and hated that she flinched. But he wouldn't lie to her to spare her feelings. He'd been pissed as hell when he'd found out what she'd done. "Yeah, it was, Bones. More than that, I was hurt." She started to answer, but when he shook his head, she subsided. "But I think I understand why you did it, now." He smiled a little, remembering that night at Founding Fathers. "Turns out you've got a couple of pretty staunch advocates."

She stopped staring at the fire to look over at him. "Who?"

The fact that she didn't immediately know should've surprised him, but it didn't, really. "Cam and Angela."

"You told them?"

"I told Cam. Angela already knew."

He'd been pissed about that, too. Even knowing Angela was her best friend it had hurt to learn that Bones had gone to her first.

"I wanted her advice. And I only told her a few weeks ago," she said. "After Michael was born."

"That's what she said."

Bones had made the decision alone, at a time when she'd thought she'd lost him. And she hadn't said anything to anyone about it for weeks afterward. Instead she'd carried her secret in what must have been very lonely silence. Until fate had finally intervened.

"What did they say?"

"What I already knew," he said. "That you were just trying to find a way we could both be happy." He shrugged, and this time it was his turn to look away. God, they were a screwed up pair. "You would have your baby, and I would have Hannah."

The name hung between them in the night air until Bones seized the proverbial bull by the horns.

"You loved her," she said, and he wondered if she was aware of the edge of pain in her voice. "She was a good woman. I wanted that for you."

Hannah was a good woman. It was true. That was part of what made the whole thing such a cluster fuck.

"I thought I loved her," he said aloud. "I tried to love her." Booth closed his eyes. Took a breath. "But she wasn't you, Bones."

He got up to put a fresh log on the fire. When he turned back he found her watching him, her expression oddly intense.

"I got your text," she said. Then, her eyes dropping from his- "After I'd finished my last signing I was waiting outside the store for a cab. Your message arrived just before Chris and Natalie... " Her voice trailed into silence, and she shook her head.

Slowly, he returned the poker to its place. He'd wondered of course, but he hadn't worked up the courage to ask her about it. Now he knew. Several seconds passed before she spoke again.

"Did you mean it?" she asked.

He turned away from the fire and crossed back to her side. Dropping to a crouch, he waited until she met his eyes.

"Yeah," he said, taking her hands in his. "Yeah, I meant it. I still do."

There was a sheen of moisture in her eyes as she nodded, but her tremulous smile and the simple acceptance in her voice made him smile in return. "Okay."

Booth was about to say something else when her eyes widened. She flattened her palm against her stomach, and he wondered for an instant if something was wrong. Then she reached for his hand.

"Feel," she said, "Just feel." There was a kind of awe in her voice that he'd never heard before. She shifted his hand over, placed it carefully. "Right there."

Nothing happened at first, and he looked a question at her, but she only shook her head. "Wait."

Then he felt it, so faintly at first that he thought he might've imagined it. He waited. Felt it again. And grinned at her.

"He kicked me!"

She laughed. "No … s_he_ kicked you."

By the time they went to bed the fire had died down to embers, lending a faint red glow to the night as they undressed and climbed under the covers. He drew her close, trailing his fingers over her shoulder and back until she rolled over to face him. Her hands settled against his chest, fingers splayed wide.

"Make love with me," she whispered. She leaned in and brushed her lips against his. "Please?"

"Anytime," he said, after returning her gentle kiss with one of his own. "God, baby. Anytime."

That night, for the first time since the kidnapping, there were no nightmares.

*x*x*x*x*

It was late when she woke up. Or late for her, anyway. The sun was already well above the horizon. She eased her fingers free of his and got out of bed, careful not to wake him. After a quick shower that left her clean, if shivering, she fumbled through making a fresh pot of coffee, her fingers stiff with cold.

She was on the front porch when he stumbled out, sleepy eyed and tousled, a half hour later. He lifted a steaming mug in silent gratitude and crossed to lean against the post at the top of the steps. She studied him while he drank. He'd pulled on jeans and a snug-fitting black t-shirt before joining her, but his feet were bare. His toes curled into the aged wood of the porch. She wondered if he was even aware of it-the flex of muscle and sinew, the strength of bone.

She took a sip of her own coffee, her eyes following his to the tree line, where a squirrel dug busily at the dirt near the base of a tall pine. She watched it work for a few seconds, then smiled when it stopped and picked something up between its tiny paws. It scampered up the tree with its prize as Booth set his mug down on the railing and turned to face her.

"So," he said, then paused to cover a yawn. "What do you want to do today?"

It seemed an odd question. They were in the mountains, after all. "Hike," she said. "There's a trail behind the cabin. I want to see where it leads."

He raised an eyebrow. His gaze flickered down to her stomach, then back up again. "You sure you're up to it?"

Annoyed, she got to her feet. "I'm pregnant, Booth. Not incapacitated."

While he showered a few minutes later she assembled a light lunch, some bottled water, and a small first-aid kit. She added a pair of rain ponchos to the pile, tossed in sunscreen, and divided it all up between their two day packs. By the time he emerged from the bathroom, dressed and freshly shaved, she was ready to go.

They spent most of the next two days outdoors, returning to the cabin at sunset to fix dinner and then sit by the fire. On the third afternoon the path they'd chosen led along the bank of a river. They followed it upstream, arriving an hour later at a pair of downed trees that had fallen across a narrow, stream-carved gully. The trail picked up again on the other side.

Instead of crossing the logs, Brennan dropped her backpack and climbed up on a nearby boulder, dangling her legs over the edge. Booth pulled a bottle of water out of his backpack. He offered it up to her, but she shook her head. She wasn't thirsty. She'd been thinking while they walked, sifting through facts and memories much the way she'd sift through artifacts at a dig site-one small shovelful at a time. Now she wanted to talk.

"They believed it," she said. It hurt more than she wanted to admit. She dropped a twig into the water and watched it tumble and spin its way downstream. "They thought I would leave without saying where I was going."

Booth capped the bottle. "It," he said. "You mean the text you supposedly sent from Chicago?"

Chris Wright had confessed to sending it herself, using Brennan's cell phone, a little while after they'd kidnapped her from outside the bookstore where she'd been waiting for a cab. Pushing aside her memory of that night, Brennan nodded.

Booth tucked the bottle of water back into his pack. "Some did."

"But you didn't."

He straightened. "Not for a second."

"Why?"

"Because I know you. You wouldn't leave without telling people where you were going, not after your parents …" With a shrug, he trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished. "You wouldn't have done it."

"Even after our fight?" He'd been furious when they'd talked on the phone that night, and by the end of it she'd thought he would never forgive her. When she'd finally hung up she'd been convinced that their relationship was over.

"Even after that." His voice was quiet, but definite. He climbed up to sit beside her.

"Thank you," she said simply as a distant blackbird's raucous call was answered from the top of a nearby oak tree.

He bumped his shoulder against hers. "You bet." There was a short pause during which they both watched the water eddy and swirl. "Bones …"

She glanced over and found him watching her. He'd folded his arms. Muscles bulged against the tight sleeves of his t-shirt.

"Why didn't you tell me about Woods?" he asked.

It was her turn to look away. "I've taken care of myself for a long time, Booth." It came out more sharply than she'd intended it to. "You saw the report," she said, softening her tone. "I handled Woods."

He nodded. "That isn't my point."

"Then what _is_ the point? Woods wasn't a problem. Neither was Chuck." Angry for reasons she didn't understand, she slid down off the boulder, then turned, hands on her hips. "I don't need you to protect me from every little bump and bruise."

He swivelled around to face her. "I know that."

"No, Booth. I don't think you do. When I told you I was doing the tour you tried to convince me to cancel it. When I refused, you insisted I take the train. Your fears were unfounded and chauvinistic, but I didn't want you to worry, so I conceded."

She reached for her pack, having changed her mind about the water. "And it didn't matter. Things still …" She yanked out the bottle as the memories flooded over her again. "Things still went to hell. But I handled it, Booth. Most of it, anyway."

Without answering, Booth jumped down from the boulder, but instead of facing her he moved to the riverbank, leaving her looking at his profile. She saw his chin come up, saw the flex and release of his jaw. "I worry about the people I love, Bones." He shot her a sidelong glance. "You and Parker … this new baby … You're my world." He stared out over the water, and she wondered what he was thinking. Then he pivoted, the heel of his boot gouging into the dirt, and there was an intensity in his eyes that she'd rarely seen before. "When you disappeared …" His voiced caught. He swallowed. "During those two weeks, nothing mattered to me. _Nothing_-" he repeated, holding her gaze, "-except finding you."

Faced with the undeniable truth of it, the truth of _him_, as Avalon Harmonia would say, Brennan could only stare. How was she supposed to respond to such unequivocal devotion? And yet she knew that had the tables been reversed, had he been the one missing, she would have done the same. And that was it, wasn't it. That was what bound them together-even more than this baby they'd created. They would always believe in each other, _be_ there for each other.

No matter what.

"I love you, too," she said quietly, and when his eyes lit up, the corners of her mouth tilted into a smile. "But you can't hover, Booth. You'll suffocate me."

He considered that. Nodded. "I'll make you a deal," he said. "I'll do my damnedest not to hover if you'll promise not to keep things from me."

"I'll try," she said tentatively. She'd gotten better about sharing things with him over the years-opening up, Angela called it-but it was still a struggle. "but I might make mistakes sometimes."

His low chuckle rolled out over the stream. He crossed back to her and slipped an arm around her waist. "_You_ might make some mistakes? Hell, I guarantee I will." She felt the press of his lips against her temple before he nudged her toward the fallen logs. "You wanted to do another five miles today, right?"

"Yes." She started across the natural bridge, and he fell into step behind her. "Walking is very good for both me and the baby."

"Then snap to it, woman."

When she reached the opposite bank she glanced back, ready to take him to task for the comment. Then she spotted the twinkle in his eyes. She snorted, shook her head, and when he stepped back onto solid ground, pushed him ahead of her.

"Anthropologically speaking," she said, with perfect equanimity. "The male is supposed to be the trail blazer."

She started to draw her hand back, but he caught it and twined his fingers through hers, drawing her close to his side.

"What do you say we blaze this trail together?"

*x*x*x*x*

On the last day of their trip Booth emerged from the bathroom after shaving to see Bones lacing up her hiking boots in ominous silence.

"Something wrong?" he asked, as he reached for his own shoes.

"No." She tucked in the laces and got to her feet. "I'll meet you outside."

He'd barely stepped out the door when she jumped down the steps and took off, striding up the mountain as if the hounds of hell were yapping at her heels. Baffled, he followed her, letting the screen door slam behind him.

For forty-five minutes he matched her silent, punishing pace, one eye on the path ahead and the other on the rocks and exposed roots that, after the first twenty minutes or so, threatened to send one or both of them crashing back down the steep grade. They finally reached the summit, bursting up and out of the tree line and onto a broad, flat meadow. But even then Bones didn't slow down. She stalked through the tall grass, stopping only when she reached the edge of a precipice. There she spun around, hands on her hips, and glared at him.

"I'm going to love this child," she snapped. Her eyes flashed fire. Her chest heaved with exertion.

"Of course you are." Booth bent at the waist, pressed his hands against his thighs, and struggled to catch his breath, eying her from beneath the brim of the ball cap he'd tugged on before he'd left the cabin. "Bones, what the hell-?"

"I'm not going to leave him with a nanny or send her off to boarding school, either. And when she cries I'll pick her up and I'll hold her." He saw the glimmer of tears and started toward her, but she snapped up a hand, stopping him in his tracks. "Nobody's going to tease her for being too smart or lock him in a trunk for breaking a plate. Nobody's going to make him pack everything he owns in a black plastic bag to be carted away to some stranger's house where most of it will probably get thrown away. My child will never, _ever_ feel like she's an inconvenience, or a burden, or worthless-" Her voice caught. She swiped at her eyes. "...or unwanted."

He watched, frustrated and helpless, as she sank to the ground like a deflating balloon. But when she lifted her eyes to his there was steel in the blue-gray depths.

"I won't give my child to a woman who appropriates the title of mother but can never _be_ her mother." Her voice dropped. Her hand settled protectively over her stomach. "Not like I can."

Suspicion rolled over Booth in a red hot wave. "What happened?" he asked. "Was it Dabney?"

She blinked up at him. "What?"

"It was, wasn't it." Damn that woman. "What did she do? Send you a text?"

Bones looked away. "You were in the shower," she said, in a voice that was uncharacteristically small and uncertain. "I didn't …" She shook her head, her voice trailing off.

"Give me your phone." He held out his hand.

"Booth …"

He cut her off before she could launch into a lecture about him being over protective, because damn it, he _wasn't_ being over protective. He was just doing what she would have done herself if she'd been thinking clearly.

He wiggled his fingers at her, palm upturned. "Now, Bones."

They weren't supposed to contact her. It was one of the many conditions of their bond agreements. They'd also relinquished their passports, been fitted with ankle bracelets, and forked over an obscene amount of bail money. Fuck lot of good any of that had done. He'd known something like this would happen. So had Caroline, who'd argued herself red-faced demanding a remand. But no. That damned idiot judge had taken one look at Wright's tear-filled baby-blues and caved.

Booth took the phone Bones had pulled out of her pocket, punched up the message, and felt his blood boil as he read the display.

_When you change your mind, let us know. The offer's still open._

The message was followed by a number that would probably trace back to a disposable phone.

Booth cursed, checked to make sure he had a signal, and punched in a number of his own. When it was answered on the other end he pushed a hand through his hair and turned away from Bones.

"Hey. Caroline. It's Booth."

"Don't you have your own phone, cherie?"

On any other day the acerbic response might have made him smile. This time he felt a muscle twitch in his jaw.

"Bones got a text message," he said. "Earlier this morning. I'd be willing to bet it came from Natalie Dabney."

He read the message and number to her, then waited while she unleashed a string of expletives that would've cowed a sailor.

"Were they dumb enough to sign it?" she asked, after she'd wound down.

"No." He wished they had. As it was, it could be virtually impossible to tie the message back to Dabney and Wright. Booth made a mental note to get Bones a new phone, even as he kicked himself for not doing it sooner. She might complain about the inconvenience of notifying all her contacts, but a little inconvenience was a small price to pay for peace of mind.

"Hmm." Caroline blew out an irritated sigh. "Number's probably a burner," she said. "But maybe those geniuses of yours over at the Jeffersonian can work some kinda magic on it. In the meantime, I'm gonna call that judge and give him a piece of my mind." There was a rustle of paper, the crash of a drawer being slammed shut. "You tell Dr. Brennan I'm gonna take care of this for her, okay? Those two are gonna find their asses back in jail so fast they won't even have time to tweet about it."

It was on the tip of his tongue to fire off a respectful 'yes ma'am', but he settled for "I'll tell her," instead. "And Caroline?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"You got it." There was a brief pause. Then, "How is Dr. Brennan? She all right?"

"She's a little shaken up and a lot pissed off," he said, "but she'll be fine."

"You take care of her, you hear? She's going to need some help gettin' herself sorted back out again, and I'm not too sure Baby Boy Sweets is up to the job."

"I've got it under control," Booth said, imagining what Sweets would say if he'd heard that unflattering assessment. "But I'll let her know you asked about her."

"You do that, Agent Booth."

Caroline hung up to call the judge, and after turning off Bones's cellphone, Booth dropped it in his pocket, resisting the temptation to chuck it off the nearest cliff.

He waited a moment, his eyes on Bones while anger seeped out and something else seeped in, bringing with it the echo of Max's voice.

"She's going to try to be tough," Max had said when Booth had talked to him after it was all over. "I taught her that. Maybe too well. She's going to insist that she can put this thing behind her and never look back." A pause then, and the sound of an indrawn breath. "Don't let her do it, Booth. Don't let her hide from you."

"I won't," Booth had promised. "I'll look after her, Max. Count on it."

Now he crossed back to her and dropped to the ground at her side, sitting quietly until she sent him a sidelong glance.

"Can I have my phone back?"

"If I say no you're going to accuse me of being over protective again," he said, "but Dabney and Wright are still out there, and as long as they are there's nothing to keep them from contacting you."

She considered that, then shrugged. "Keep it." she said, "but only until they're back in custody."

Her tone, one of grumbling acceptance, brought a faint smile to his face.

"Hey," he said, deciding a change of subject was in order. "Randy Jenkins called the other day." He'd been waiting to tell her the news until they'd put the kidnapping behind them, but he figured she could use the distraction now. Sure enough, she emerged from her black mood long enough to cast him a curious look.

"Oh?"

He nodded. "Remember when you called me from Atlanta and I told you that he had a lead?"

"Yes, but since he didn't provide any details, I didn't take him seriously."

"Well you can take him seriously now."

She'd plucked a blade of grass and begun idly tearing it to shreds, but at his words she dropped it and turned to face him. He waited, letting the suspense build until her initial curiosity edged over into impatience.

"Well?" she prompted.

"How do you feel about fire stations?" he asked, deadpan.

"I believe they're useful to have nearby," she responded, "if your house is burning down."

"No. I mean how would you like to live in one?"

She blinked at him, nonplussed. "Why would I want to do that?"

Booth reached into his pocket and pulled out his own phone to show her the information Randy had sent him.

"Because," he said enthusiastically as he opened the file and handed the phone to her, "it'd be way cool."

She took the phone, but she still looked doubtful. "I don't understand why the ambient temperature of a-" she glanced down, then back at him. "-decommissioned fire house would be any different from that of any other home," she said.

"Not cool as in _cool_," he corrected. "Cool as in awesome. Slick. Neato."

"Neato?" The look she gave him, eyebrows raised, head tilted a little to one side, was old school Bones.

"It's perfect, Bones. Good location, plenty of light..." He pointed out amenities while he talked. "Four bedrooms, two and a half baths, plenty of character."

"No yard," she said. "You wanted a yard."

"There's a park half a block away."

"Parker wants a swimming pool."

He wanted to kiss her for thinking of Parks. Hell, he just wanted to kiss her. He did, then drew back.

"So we'll get a membership at the Y. Besides, a fireman's pole is way cooler than a swimming pool. None of his buddies can say they have one of those at home."

He could tell she was wavering, even if she wasn't yet ready to admit it. "What about the baby?" she asked. "It'll be several years before she'll be old enough to manage a fireman's pole."

"We'll lock it down," he promised. "Build a hatch so that _he_-" He grinned when humor sparked in her eyes. "-can't hurt himself."

He pointed out the oak floors, the broad expanse of windows. "Floors need sanding and polishing, but that's easy enough."

"Windows are grimy," she observed, tilting her head. "Unless these pictures were taken at night?"

Booth shrugged. "I'm sure they're grimy. Place hasn't been occupied for a while. But it's nothing a little elbow grease won't fix."

When the brush of her finger brought up the floor plans he stopped her, leaning in close and capturing her hand with his.

"And this-" He indicated a large, airy room on the east end of the third floor. He had no idea what the room's original purpose had been, but he knew what it needed to be for her. "-could be your home office."

He waited while she scrolled through the information and then back again, stopping occasionally to read. This place was right for them. He was certain of it. But he knew there was still one thing they had to talk about.

"It's out of our price range," she said, getting there sooner than he'd expected her to.

"True," he said.

He'd fought a hard personal battle over that one. Bones made more money than he did. She always would. And he needed to deal with that, because he sure as hell wasn't willing to let it come between them. Reaching into his pocket, he fished out the Monopoly piece Todd had sent him from Chicago. He took her hand, turned it over, and dropped the tiny metal shoe into her upturned palm, then folded her fingers over it.

"But I think we can afford it together," he said, grinning at her stunned reaction to the small gift and remembering the earring he'd found for her in New Orleans. _Things are just things_, she'd said then. _They cannot have magical meaning or powers_.

Her gaze sharpened on his, and he wondered if she remembered that conversation, too. But she only nodded and slipped the game piece into her own pocket without comment.

When she looked back at him, there was a new eagerness in her eyes. "When can we look at it?"

"Soon as we get back. We have an appointment first thing Monday morning."

The sky had clouded over while they'd been talking, and now a distant roll of thunder drew Booth's attention skyward. Getting to his feet, he pulled her up beside him.

"We should head back down," he said, with a pointed look around at their exposed location. "This probably isn't the best place to be when that storm breaks."

They moved back toward the tree line, but the storm blew in faster than they could make their descent, and they were only midway down when they heard the first drops splash against the leaves above their heads. Bones gave him a pained look.

"The one time we don't bring the packs," she said, glancing upward with a shake of her head.

The steepest, most dangerous part of the trail was behind them, but they still had a good twenty minute hike back to the cabin. Booth cast a glance at the few bits of sky that were visible through the trees, then grabbed her hand. "Come on," he urged with a grin. "Let's make a run for it." It was an insane idea. Pregnancy had already shifted her center of balance, and the path ahead, though relatively smooth, still sloped downhill. But fearful as he was that she might hurt herself or the baby, he trusted her to know her limits. There were times when you had to protect the ones you loved, he thought, and times when you had to let them protect themselves.

"Booth-"

She was giving him that look, the one that meant she thought he was being irrational and immature, but he just tugged at her hand.

Dabney and Wright had chipped away at her self-confidence for two weeks, and from what he'd seen since, they'd done a damned fine job of making her doubt herself. But he didn't doubt her, not for a minute.

"Last one back cooks," he challenged. "I'll even give you a head start." She needed to get her mojo back, and while a race wouldn't get her all the way there, it might help to set her on the right track.

He saw the calculating gleam in her eyes an instant before she took off, scrambling down the path like a jackrabbit, though as he'd known she would, she slowed down when she needed to, protecting herself and their unborn child. He felt a surge of pride as he watched her, certain she would be okay, that they would find their way back again. Together.

"You coming or not?" She called as thunder crack overhead and the rain started to come down in earnest.

"Right behind you, Bones."

He stayed two steps back as they scrambled over fallen logs, skirted large rocks and patches of mountain rhododendron, and splashed across a shallow creek.

By the time they broke free of the woods in front of the cabin they were both soaked to the skin. He caught her shoulder, spun her into his arms, and captured her startled gasp with his lips while thunder rumbled over their heads. She tasted of raindrops, and when he drew back her eyes laughed up at him.

"You cheated," she accused him. "Impeding a runner's progress is grounds for disqualification."

He shrugged it off and brushed dripping strands of hair away from her face. "So disqualify me," he said, and sank into another kiss, letting the warmth of her mouth chase away the chill of the rain. When her arms twined around his neck and her body pressed into his he knew that regardless of who crossed the finish line first, he'd won.

They both had.

He loved her. Would always love her. _Nothing_ would ever change that.

As if aware of his thoughts she pressed in closer, and he tightened his hold on her, reveling in the press of her body against his for a few more seconds before drawing reluctantly away.

"Come on," he said, and reached for her hand. "Let's get out of this rain."

*x*x*x*x*

After they changed into dry clothes they moved the table in front of the fireplace and got out a deck of cards. They took turns choosing games, the cards passing back and forth between them with easy camaraderie. After a particularly aggressive round of Slap Jack, Booth got up to tend the fire, and Brennan got up to use the bathroom. On her way back she stopped to get drinks out of the ice chest, a beer for Booth, and cranberry juice for herself. She set Booth's on the table and propped her hip against the shelf that served as a kitchen counter, opening her own while she watched him rearrange the logs in the fireplace.

"Chris Wright had an emergency hysterectomy two years ago," she said conversationally, then watched as Booth lost his hold on the log he'd been moving with the tongs. The wood dropped into the fire, sending up a shower of sparks, some of which slipped past his guard and onto the hearth. There followed a fascinating few seconds of cursing and stomping that ended in a long sigh and him turning to stare at her, hands on his hips.

"You think maybe you could've dropped that bombshell when I didn't have my hands full of flaming log?"

"You weren't using your hands. You were using the tongs," she pointed out.

"Same difference." With a huff of irritation, Booth put the tongs away. "Chris Wright can't have children of her own." He scrubbed a hand through his hair and shook his head. "You didn't think that might've been worth mentioning, I don't know, two weeks ago?"

"No." Brennan sipped her juice, pursing her lips against the bitter tang. "She had the procedure done several years ago. I don't see how it's relevant to the case."

"It goes to motive, Bones." He walked over to stand in front of her. "Think about it. What if instead of setting you up for those fertility treatments your doctor had told you that you would never be able to have children of your own?"

She experienced a twinge of discomfort at the thought, but disregarded it. "There are other ways, Booth."

"That's right." He snapped his fingers. "There's adoption." Folding his arms across his chest, he raised an eyebrow at her. "And Dabney and Wright thought they could choose their kid the same way they chose which vegetables to order from PeaPod."

She set her bottle down harder than she'd intended to, then had to steady it when it wobbled and threatened to tip.

"Adoption isn't the only way."

"After a hysterectomy? Yeah, it pretty much is."

"No. There's surrogacy."

He shrugged that off. "That's just another name for what they were hoping to get from you."

"Natalie could've carried a baby. They could've used donor sperm." As she had done. Her eyes found his. Held. His next words were quiet, but she thought she heard a hint of remembered pain behind them.

"Then why didn't they?"

Brennan picked up her juice bottle again, looking down at it as she rolled it between her palms.

"According to Chris, Natalie was too busy with her work."

He was quiet for a long moment, then he reached over, plucked the bottle out of her hands, and set it back on the counter. She looked up at him in confusion as he took her hand, but followed him across to the futon without complaint. He pulled her down beside him, then turned to face her.

"You aren't Natalie, Bones."

The comment baffled her. "Of course I'm not."

"No. I mean you aren't anything like her."

"Actually," she argued. "We're very similar people. Granted, she isn't as intelligent as I am-" He smiled faintly at that, but she ignored it. "-but she does have an impressive IQ. She's also rational, successful, well-respected in her field, and independently wealthy. " Brennan got back to her feet and moved away from him, unable to look into his eyes while she said the last part, the part she'd been agonizing over. "She wanted a baby, Booth. An heir to her fortune and a family for Chris. And she was willing to do whatever she had to to get it."

There was a long silence. Then she heard the futon shift as he got up. A moment later his hands settled on her shoulders.

"You're forgetting something," he said quietly.

She searched her memory, replaying the conversations she'd had with Chris when Natalie had been away. Then she shook her head. "No, I'm not." .

"Yeah, you are."

His grip on her shoulders tightened as he turned her around to face him. There was a bit of lint on his left shoulder. She stared at it until the pressure of his hand under her chin lifted her face to his.

"Look at me, Bones."

She did, reluctantly. She'd expected to see vindication in his gaze, but what she saw instead made her throat go tight.

"Motive," he said, repeating his earlier comment. "You're forgetting motive."

"I don't understand."

"Natalie acted out of arrogance and greed." He nudged a strand of still-damp hair back from her face, then settled his hand against the side of her neck. "You acted out of love."

"That doesn't make it okay," she said, and found herself blinking back tears.

"No," he agreed. "It doesn't. But I can forgive somebody who screws up out of love. I can't forgive somebody who does it out of greed."

She looked at him and wondered how it was possible to love somebody as much as she loved him, and yet to hurt them as much as she'd hurt him. "I'm sorry, Booth." She dropped her head to his shoulder and felt his arms come around her. "I'm so sorry."

"Shh," he murmured, and she felt him lower his head over hers, felt the press of his lips against her hair. "It's over, okay? Besides, I think I probably owe you an apology of my own."

Confusion brought her head back up. "For what?"

"For Hannah."

She shook her head. "I don't understand."

"I didn't realize it at the time, and I certainly didn't do it intentionally, but I used her to get back at you."

"You cared about her."

"I did. I still do. But the fact remains ..." He paused as the cabin brightened with a flash of lightning then subsided back to the dingy gray of rain-shadowed evening. "I was hurt when you turned me down after we met with Sweets that night, and because of that I made some bad choices."

One mistake in an experiment, or one misinterpretation of evidence, often triggered others, thus invalidating results and forcing the ethical investigator to begin again. Usually she hated when it happened to her, but this time she was grateful.

"No," she said aloud. "You made rational decisions based on the facts at hand. You told me you needed to move on, and I accepted that."

"I wasn't there for you when you needed me."

"You couldn't be. Your allegiance belonged to Hannah."

"No," he said. "My allegiance belongs to you. It always will."

His certainty calmed and reassured her. Somewhere along the line he'd become her rock, despite his often baffling reliance on instinct, supposition and emotion. She dropped her head back to his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him, and they stood there together while the fire crackled in the hearth and the rain beat against the windows.

"I love you," she said at last.

His arms tightened around her for an instant, then loosened. She drew back enough to tilt her head up to his.

"I love you, too," he said, and she reached for his kiss, meeting the warm strength of his mouth halfway.

*x*x*x*x*

The storm brought cooler temperatures and a stiff breeze, so they moved the futon aside and dragged the air mattress in front of the fire. Booth made up their bed while Brennan cleaned up the remnants of their dinner. It was still relatively early when they finished the simple chores, but they crawled into bed anyway, Brennan taking the side closest to the fire.

Booth lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, watching the play of light and shadows. Beside him, Bones had curled on her side and tucked her cold feet against his legs. It had been a long, emotionally draining day, and he'd thought she might fall asleep despite the early hour, so he was surprised by the sound of her voice.

"Chris had a bad reaction to the anesthesia they gave her when she had her hysterectomy," she said.

"Oh?" Whatever she had on her mind, it sounded like she'd been chewing it over for a while.

"She spent several days in the CCU, and for a while, the doctors weren't sure she was going to make it."

"Sounds familiar," he said, remembering his own surgery and the long, frustrating recovery that had followed.

"Chris's reaction was worse than yours was." Bones shifted to her back and stretched out her legs.

"Bones … Not that I'm not interested, but why are you telling me this?"

She looked over at him. Her expression was serious. Thoughtful. "The hospital wouldn't let Natalie in to see her."

"Immediate family only," he said. "It's a pretty standard policy."

"But Natalie _is_ Chris's family." She returned her gaze to the ceiling. "Chris's parents died when she was a teenager, and she doesn't have any siblings."

"But Dabney and Wright weren't family in the eyes of the law," Booth pointed out. "No matter how they felt about each other."

"They love each other. I think maybe they love each other as much as we do." Her hand connected with his under the blankets. Held.

"Where are you going with this?"

Bones continued as if she hadn't heard him. "The house they bought is in Natalie's name. They each have their own health insurance policy. They couldn't even file their taxes together." She rested her free hand on her stomach, and he wondered if she was aware of the protective way she caressed the rise. "And their child would be asked intrusive, inappropriate questions."

"Maybe." Probably. Dabney and Wright's fictional child wouldn't have fit the standard mold, and children who were different often became the subject of teasing.

She rolled over to face him, and he reached automatically to adjust the blankets. Behind her, the fire snapped and hissed at the rain.

"I want to get married."

Stunned, he stared at her while his heart did a slow, hard thud in his chest. "Bones …"

She shook her head, silencing him. "I don't want people to question what we are to each other," she said. "If you're ever in the hospital, I don't want to have to prove that I have the right to know what's going on." She paused. Swallowed. "And I never want our child to have to explain to her friends why her parents aren't married."

He reached for her hand again, wrapped his own around it. It was everything he'd ever wanted, but he found himself hesitating.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked. "You've always said-"

"I know." She gave a faint shrug. A tremulous smile. "I've decided I was wrong."

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to grab her up in his arms and swing her in circles until they were both too dizzy to stand. He wanted to climb up on the roof and shout it to the heavens.

Instead he leaned in and kissed her, letting his lips linger against hers.

"Yeah," he said, drawing back just enough to smile into her eyes. "Okay."

**Epilogue**

They decided to combine their wedding and housewarming party into a single event. It was Bones who'd suggested it, reasoning that it made sense to consolidate. Booth had agreed without hesitation. They were already frantically busy, what with buying a house, sorting out whose possessions would go where, and preparing for the baby. Anything that might simplify their situation, even a little, was a good thing.

That was why Booth found himself surrounded by drop cloths and paint cans when he took his vows, as well as why the windows were uncurtained and their buffet table consisted of a pair of saw-horses overlaid with plywood. But Angela had worked magic amidst the chaos, hiding the plywood beneath a lacy tablecloth and covering every available surface with a flood of greenery. Interspersed among the wildflowers and roses were the vases Bones had saved from her trip. Each one held a trio of pale yellow daffodils accented with a sprig of baby's breath. Booth wondered where Angela had found those at this time of year, but he didn't care enough to ask. Instead he only hugged her, whispered a thank you in her ear, and when she hugged him back with a murmured "you'd better treat her right," he'd grinned.

Bones wore a cream-colored maternity dress that brought out the color of her eyes and the highlights in her hair. Booth wore his best suit. Parker was their ring bearer, of course, having accepted the dubious honor in exchange for being allowed to join the wedding party via the-totally awesome, according to him-fireman's pole. And Hodgins and Angela stood as witnesses, prompting a short but heated discussion between Cam and Caroline over who would hold baby Michael during the brief ceremony-an argument Bones solved by summarily removing the baby from Angela's arms and placing him in Todd Richardson's, much to his delight and the women's consternation.

It was Jared who had solved the problem of who would perform the marriage rites. He'd given Booth the name of a retired chaplain, and after meeting with the man once or twice even Bones had agreed that he seemed suitable, a fact born out by the man's boundless patience during the hours of haggling over the wording of the wedding vows.

And so it was that on one of those brilliant fall days when the whole world seemed to be painted in shades of red and gold he and Bones faced each other, joined hands, and exchanged the simple promises they'd agreed upon together. At the end, after the vows but before the kiss, Bones reached up to frame his face with her hands. There was a sheen of moisture in her eyes.

"I love you." She said it quietly, but with an absolute conviction that made his throat close up and drew a long, happy sigh from Angela, who had apparently overheard.

Booth shot Angela a look that made her step back. Then he reached for Bones's hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a kiss against the simple gold band that he'd slid into place just seconds before.

"I love you, too," he murmured, his eyes locked on hers as a lump formed in his throat.

"Well." The chaplain cleared his throat, and when Booth glanced over he could've sworn he caught the old guy dashing away a tear. "I guess there's only one thing left to do." With that he closed his Bible-a concession Booth suspected Bones had made out of respect for him-and smiled broadly.

"I now pronounce you-"

Booth, already leaning in for the kiss, barely heard the rest, the words all but drowned out by the rousing cheers of their guests and the pressure of Bones's smiling lips against his.

"-husband and wife."

*** The End ***


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